Nature of the Beast Mini Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth
by MiniKoontzy
Summary: The Nightdemon, feared and revered throughout Kaon, is the city's most ruthless enforcer of the law. She hunts and strikes from the shadows, never seen and rarely heard. A vengeful spirit, Kaonians insist she is, trailing death wherever she goes, merciless in her judgements. But as one young Praxian discovers, the Nightdemon is a far more corporeal and far more complicated threat.
1. Chapter 1

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

* * *

Part 1: Prowling Darkness, Guardian Light

* _This is a mini-series for my Nature of the Beast story. A good number of people found Sentenza and Counterforce's relationship to be drop dead adorable, but I'm kind of working off a backstory that isn't expanded on very in depth in the series itself. I decided that wouldn't do – and this here's the result. This mini-series will focus on how Sentenza and Counterforce got to know one another via their fields of work, how they interacted despite living in separate cities, and how they came to be so close._

 _Warning: This story is going to be VERY dark and very emotional as it will be showing both the gritty underside of Cybertronian society, mostly around Kaon and Iacon, though sometimes in other cities, as well as a deeper look into Sentenza's psyche. The chapters will also be longer than my usual fare, unlike First Star I See Tonight, as I would really like to do some world building for these two._

 _Secondary Warning: Lots of forensics terms in here. Sentenza and Counterforce will do their best to clarify any unfamiliar phrases. :)_

 _First major criminal of the menu today: Say hello again to Vertebreak!_

 _*Note: I always pictured Kaon as a kind of Cybertronian London, so I gave the workers ("lower class") a kind of cockney accent similar to Chop Shop. I've also been watching Witcher 3 lately so, yeah. Sentenza's got a more refined, high class accent, but she is occasionally prone to turns of speech employed by lower class Kaonians. It's called creative license. :P_

 _Go search "Cybertronian Time" and look for the **archiveofourown**_ _link_ ** _-_** _to help keep track of all the time terms used here._

* * *

 _"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."_

 _-Martin Luther King, Jr._

* * *

When one stepped into the city of Kaon, one would instantly recognize it as an industrial city with a certain grim, rugged charm. At first one would ignore the dark, empty alleys that seemed peculiarly and utterly lifeless for more interesting sights. In the streets during the long days, mechs and femmes worked away on the massive buildings to keep them tall and sturdy against the persistent acid rain that gnawed away at the buildings every few seasons. On the insides of these buildings, they worked to keep the city itself chugging ever onwards. While the inhabitants weren't immediately friendly to outsiders, spend enough time there and the chance of being approached by a stranger wishing to start a conversation rose exponentially.

As one strode with this random stranger, one would again notice the dark alleys that the people tended to avoid as if by instinct.

When asked why the dark alleys were so strangely dead, the Kaonian would become suddenly hesitant, eyeing a passed alley warily before stopping to explain such a reaction. 'Tis where the Demon dwells they would say in a hushed whisper, motioning towards it. No sane Kaonian dared enter them nowadays. Oh, they used to teem with bad activity an orn or so ago, but ever since She showed up on the scene they were avoided like the plague. Any ill-doer who entered them tended not to come out alive, found mortally wounded or dead soon afterwards. If ye knew what was good for ye, ye'd stay away from them alleys they would warn. Don't use 'em as shortcuts no matter how late ye were. Don't use 'em as dealing places, for ye'd get your neck slit if ye did. Don't use 'em to hide, for She saw all that happened in the dark.

But who is She? the innocent newcomer would ask, helm tilting to one side curiously.

The Kaonian would then shrug. No one knew. Some said She was a vengeful lost spark who hunted the sort who had slain Her, eternally searching for Her killer. Others said She was an enforcer sent by Primus himself to handle the growing amount of criminals roaming Cybertron's surface, a few untouchable by the law, many others not so much. A rare few thought She was a rogue agent of Unicron, but that lot weren't to be believed, for why would an agent of chaos remove the chaotic element? The less superstitious viewed her simply as the city's staunch protector, keeping criminals away from the unwary and innocent the instant evening fell. She was harsh in Her judgement She was, but 'twas simply the way Her mind worked. Petty thief or homicidal murderer, it didn't matter yer transgression – ye were equal prey for the Demon. Any who strayed from the path of right were soon in Her clutches. As long as ye were in Kaon, the stranger said, ye'd best behave yerself whilst out wanderin' these streets at night, lest ye become Her latest victim. Obey the laws and ye had nothing to fear from Her. She would protect you from harm if ye did. Attempt any funny business and there was a good chance ye'd end up in one of them alleys bleedin' yer life out and prayin' for mercy from above, so it was best to stay on Her good side as long as ye were in Her city. This _was_ Her city after all, and She protected it with the fierceness of a Predacon.

With that grim warning, the stranger would then disappear. The still-puzzled newcomer would then be left to gaze at the dark alley, understanding now why it was so oddly devoid of life, and wonder who exactly this protective Demon truly was.

* * *

 _Night had fallen on the city. Light from Cybertron's twin moons washed the industrial city from above, but the soft silvery light never pervaded the dark alleys. It seemed to instead shy away from such areas out of fright or apprehension. The pale light of the heavens above knew better than to illuminate what shouldn't be seen by the faint of spark, a means of warning Kaon's underworld inhabitants to stay away from these areas unless they wanted a date with Death._

 _Running down an empty, grimy side street ran a grey and burnt orange vehicle former whose body faintly resembled that of a hyena, his red optics filled with primal terror. His run was stumbling, frantic, unsteady but quick. His air intakes were ragged and short from running such a great distance in such a short time. Just barely visible on his door wings was a purple Decepticon crest coated in fresh Energon. In one hand he held an energy knife dripping with the same fresh fuel, the little droplets leaving a faintly glowing trail behind him, but he heeded not this mistake._

 _Taking a turn at random, he found himself at a dead end, looking up at a side wall of an apartment complex. There was no way he could climb that. He was no Geckoid, and certainly not a flier. Too late did he realize that he'd doomed himself. He chose to put his backstrut to the wall for safety, red optics wildly flicking around for some sign of the one who pursued him. But how could you see something that couldn't be seen? That was the worst part in Packhound's mind – he was standing there waiting for his death to arrive, waiting for the moment that horrible scythe cut through him, waiting for the moment She would end him._

 _"Look, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to kill that mech! It was supposed to be an easy job to rob the joint, but he fought back with a blaster! What was I supposed to do, let him shoot me?!"_

 _No reply came aside from a faint howling of the wind and the low chugging of Cybertron's inner workings. Rather than reassure him, this silence only served to make his terror grow. Then, then...he heard Her, the voice of the Demon herself, seeming to come from all around him. His air intakes came even faster when he heard it, his spark pounding in his chest so fast he thought it might burst. Then he felt a hot, tingling sensation on his cheek that felt all too like an energy blade. He whimpered as it dragged down and stopped at his neck._

 _"Everyone has a choice, Decepticon. You simply made the wrong one, and now you pay for it in equal measure. You took a life this night out of fear, and so yours must end in the same manner."_

 _It wasn't how he'd expected it to sound, not at all. It was soft, low, seductive, like the sweet kiss of a lover. He was alarmed that some of his fear vanished on hearing her speak despite the words being her judgement being passed. He fought the base urge to reach out and try to touch her even if he had no idea where she actually was. But there didn't seem to be any emotion in her voice. It was flat, absent of all the anger he thought she'd be feeling over what he had done to deserve her pursuit of him. He had expected outrage. Instead, he got nothing. And that was just as unnerving as if she had been mad at him. She was no passionate killer. She was a murder drone.  
_

 _He felt the energy blade removed, knowing full well she hadn't left for better prey, but rather was setting up to slice him to pieces. He tried to make a last ditch effort to run, only to find he couldn't move. Packhound was uncertain whether or not this paralysis was due to his own fear or some diabolical device she'd used to pin him against the wall. As far as he was concerned it was black magic at work, further proof to him that this was no ordinary femme, but a monster straight from the Pit. He begged, entreated – he'd make up for his crime if she just let him go, just gave him a chance to do so! He swore on the Allspark he'd never harm anyone ever again! He'd be good! He'd convert!_

 _Only too late did Packhound pick up the soft rush of air as the scythe was swung. He emitted one last scream of pure terror, or at least tried to, but it was cut short by the sickening sound of a main line being ruptured, his Energon spurting onto the walls and onto an invisible obstacle, the mech choking on his own life blood. And then the sound of Packhound's body hitting the ground, glowing blue fuel still spurting from his sliced neck cables. He choked once, twice, hands gripping his neck, then was silent and still._

 _The air above him shimmered like a mirage, briefly revealing his assassin – a Seeker femme blacker than ink and accented with blood red highlights, dark red optics burning with a dark, hellish ember in their depths. And then, like a phantom, she shimmered and vanished, leaving her slain victim in the alley._

* * *

Sentenza awoke with a gasp, feeling as though her whole body had been dipped into a vat of liquid nitrogen. Her spark pounded in its chamber, her Predacon yellow optics wide and glazed with horror. Every lunar cycle of so she'd get one of these nightmares – terrible, horrible nightmares that made her shudder, sometimes even making her sick to her tanks, and which she remembered vividly afterwards for all time. But the worst part was that she knew they weren't just bad dreams meant to torment her brief cycles of power down. Oh, how she devoutly wished they were. How she wished she could just forget them.

No. She knew. These weren't just nightmares. They were memories. She couldn't just dismiss them as the result of an overactive, tense, and stressed processor. She had to live with the fact that she'd done that to the Decepticon who'd killed a mech trying to rob him. As an officer of the law, albeit a privately employed one, it was basic ethics to never take the law into ones own hands. She skirted ethics every now and again in her quest to remove the criminal element, but she had good intentions when doing so. But a few nights ago, her other half had taken over and she had become judge, jury, and executioner.

Giving a shuddering sigh, she forced herself up from her berth with the intent of getting a little high grade to calm her nerves, stretching her stiff limbs and wings as she went out of her room. While she typically reserved such indulgences for after completing a hard case, a reward to herself for a job well done, right now she felt she seriously needed a small cube of the stuff to keep herself sane. That had been the worst episode in a while, both the attack and the ensuring memory-mare. She needed a pick-me-up, something to steady her.

The black and red Seeker femme rummaged around in a small, safe-like device and pulled out a powerfully glowing cube of the blue fuel, pouring a small amount into a smaller cube used as a glass. Then she put it back and went over to a table and sofa in her little apartment lounge, plunking down and propping her pedes up onto the low piece of flattened, highly polished titanium, her wings held limply at her sides as she every so often sipped at the liquid, feeling the warmth from it settle in her tanks. Within about three breems the little glass was empty. It was thus placed on the table, and the femme relaxed, letting her optics shutter. Ah, that was much better. That had been just what she had needed...

* * *

She must've dozed off from the effects. The next thing she knew her land-femme, Camber, was buzzing her on her comm. link. She roused herself with slight effort and pinged her back, asking what was the matter and why she'd tried to ping her five times successively. Was there an emergency that needed tending to?

* _There's some officers down here in the office askin' to see ye miss, from Praxus they are. Says they wants to have words with ye. Shall I let them up, or are ye feelin' fit enough to come down and see what they want from ye? They're quite polite but they're very persistent._ *

She considered this for a moment, her curiosity mounting. What would bring some officers from Praxus all the way to Kaon, and why to her and not to the main law enforcement station? In her opinion that would be a little more natural. "Let them up, Camber. I'll see them in my rooms."

* _Understood. They're on their way up to ye now, miss. Mayhaps they're lookin' to hire ye?_ *

"Maybe. We'll see. Here's hoping..."

The Seeker femme cut the line and set about doing a bit of tidying up of her lounge. Most officers who came to visit her were from Kaon or else Iacon, and she knew many of them by name, since she'd aided them on a case more than once. None of them knew of her other half. She had deemed such knowledge too dangerous to be in outside hands. They just saw her as a skilled private detective with a few emotional and behavioral quirks that took some getting used to. But having visitors from a city thousands of kliks away? That was new to her, and she wanted to make a good first impression in case they did in fact wish to employ her.

Just as she was finishing, the door to her apartment slid open. Striding in was a very tall, well-built red and purple Seeker accompanied by a smaller golden and silver land-based mech, the latter's optics concealed by a tinted pale golden visor, but even with the visor the smaller mech wore she could tell his gaze was fixated on her in intense curiosity. His companion, whom she recognized vaguely as Commander Aegis of the fifteenth precinct, appeared interested in first the room, _then_ the owner of said room. Obviously he was the observer of the group, taking in everything before focusing on the centerpiece. The smaller grounder was the one to get right to the point, something she could appreciate. Both wore the crests of Praxus Homicide Investigation.

"Sentenza?" asked the Seeker mech, seemingly having a bit of trouble pronouncing her unusual name.

"Yes. What brings you mechs to my humble little abode?" she wondered, motioning for them to have a seat and make themselves comfortable, "Can I get either of you anything? You must've had quite a long journey of it. Praxus is a ways away from here."

They both politely declined her offer. Still the smaller grounder mech was riveted on her as though transfixed, but still the visor remained down. This got her curious. Could he not see without it, or did he maybe have some sort of other optic problem that demanded he use it at all times? Was he just keeping it down out of formality, perhaps? She knew some mechs and femmes with optic visors who did that. And yet she was sensing there was more to it than that. There had to be a concrete reason for him to be keeping it down other than out of a sense of civil etiquette.

"See something you like?" she wondered, saucily innocent and playful, giving him a piercing look through her Predacon yellow optics.

The smaller mech jolted, helm lowering abashedly. "Sorry. You're just...you aren't how I expected you to look from the reports. Please, forgive me for staring. I-I didn't mean to offend."

She snorted softly in amusement. Oh, very polite this one was. He seemed a bit of a goody-two-trods in her opinion, but she sensed a good spark in him. Maybe she should give him a chance and not dismiss him as a try-hard right away. He was handsome in a dulled, practical, yet somehow still flashy way, she wouldn't deny that, and his voice was rather charming in a quiet, gentlemechly way. He behaved and spoke in many ways like an upper class mech, but the casual, relaxed way he was holding himself even while sitting seemed to contradict that assumption blatantly. In actual fact, he behaved more like a regular officer, yet far more laid-back and easy going than most Praxian officers she had met in the past. This friendly, casual behavior was a little odd, but decidedly attractive.

"So, again, what brings you distinguished mechs to my home?"

Both mechs looked at each other, the smaller mech deferring to the rank of the larger Seeker mech.

"A contract," grunted Aegis simply. "You've heard about the mysterious deaths of laborers in Crystal City?"

Sentenza nodded once. Yes, she had heard about them. Random lower class mechs and femmes found dead in the underground tunnels that criss-crossed Cybertron. Faction badges scratched off; all had certain bio-mechanisms missing from their bodies, expertly removed as if by a master surgeon; little to no spilled Energon at the scenes, indicating they had all been terminated elsewhere. Time between the various deaths was also incredibly random. She knew of them well, but what about them? All of those deaths were a bit out of her neighborhood. She had a few contacts over there, but she worked mainly in the Kaon-Iacon regions.

Aegis folded one leg over another and began at last to explain the object of his visit:

"My precinct has been charged with solving the murders and arresting the one responsible, since their own law enforcement is too small to do much. They're a city of scientists, and they've never suffered any crimes like this before – most they've had are a few charges of accidental plagiarism of another's work or some mild skirting of ethics in their experiments; nothing major like serial murders. I suppose a city of geniuses knows better than to break the law so openly. Their sole precinct has pledged to assist us as best they can, but they need professional investigators for this one."

He focused his indigo gaze on her then, the one leg uncrossing as he sat up an leaned forward intently, pausing before continuing on:

"That's why I thought getting you on the task force would be a good idea. You're an expert on this sort of thing from all I've read about you. Serial killings are your specialty. And as it so happens, it's Counterforce's specialty, too. Having two experts should make solving this much easier, I think. I was taught that two processors are always better than one. Eh, detective? What do you say? Are you willing to lend us a hand on this case? We're willing to pay good for your troubles."

The Seeker femme started slightly, Predacon yellow optics fastening on the smaller golden and silver mech at his side. So this was the famed Counterforce, was it? Hm. Not quite what she had expected from the most celebrated homicide investigator in Praxus and possibly on all of Cybertron. He wasn't conceited like most celebrity officers tended to be, strutting about with their own importance, nor was he intensely vocal – he was quiet, modest, someone who thought things through before voicing anything. A considerate sort all around, and someone who clearly held rigid beliefs concerning right and wrong due to his successes against murderers and criminals in general.

And having the fifteenth precinct, not to mention Counterforce of all mechs, in her subspace pocket _was_ a distinct advantage in the long run...

"Alright. I'm in, but on one condition. I want _ckv behl_. I must be able to go where I want and do what I want. Is that permissible?"

Without any hesitation, Aegis said it was granted. He saw no objection to such a request.

With that, both mechs rose and made to exit, the taller Seeker mech pausing briefly to say he would be expecting her arrival at Praxus within a few solar cycles – that would give her time enough to gather whatever things she needed for the investigation and make her way over. He also handed her a small holo-card that provided the precinct's location. Then he vanished out of the sliding doors with a friendly but authoritative tip of his helm at her. She wasn't a fan of military types normally, but Aegis she had to admit she tolerated. He still had that formal air about him that military types tended to have, but he was definitely friendlier than, say, someone like the infamously stiff Ultra Magnus.

* * *

Rather than follow on his commander's heel struts, elected instead to linger on the threshold, hidden optics focused on the black and red Seeker femme who stood across from him, arms folded over her chest plates, one brow ridge arched. Something about her fascinated him, and it wasn't just her exotic design or her attractive voice print. It went beyond that which could be seen and heard by optic and audial alone. There was an air of...of dark mystery and intrigue that surrounded her that demanded he look deeper for answers to the questions swirling in his processor: Why was that air of darkness there? Was it there by choice or outside force? Why were her wings held so tautly, a blatant indicator of stress, and why was her field and plating pulled so tightly against her frame?

No theories came. Blank.

She continued to look at him, finally prompting him to speak on asking simply: "Yeah? Something the matter, Goldie?"

He tilted his Raptorial helm to one side, a very faint smile forming at the granted nickname, but there was a certain severity in his countenance as he asked:

"Why did you request _cvk behl_ , detective? Aegis hired you as a private individual, and you would've had full access to the precinct's resources regardless. That comes with being assigned as my partner for this case, after all. And we both know of your network of contacts – any self-respecting precinct on Cybertron does! Frankly it makes us official 'Bots look lazy to a remarkable extent. I do hope I'm not nosing into something that's not my business, but I'm just curious as to...well, why? It seems a bit excessive if you don't mind my saying so, almost unnecessary."

The investigator took note a sudden, imperceptible tensing of her frame and a deep hesitation that bordered on fear in her optics. Her wings twitched once, lowered. She took a step away from him. He thus realized his question was actually a very personal one, and he had, however innocently, opened up a fresh wound. Mentally he slapped himself for his shortsightedness. In his quest for an answer to his many questions, he had inadvertently hurt her. So much for getting off to a good start with his partner.

"...I-I'm sorry. Have a put my pede in it?"

Sentenza emitted a soft, reluctant sounding sigh. She remained silent for a moment, then replying, her voice almost a mumble in volume but still clear and concise:

"Look, let's just say I have _personal_ reasons in asking for _cvk behl_ from you boys. Maybe at some point in the future I'll be at liberty to tell you what those reasons are, once I'm certain I can trust you with the information, but for now...just drop it, okay? As a favor to me."

Counterforce nodded understandingly. He then turned, and, with another infinitely curious but sympathetic glance back at her and a friendly twitch of his doorwings, he left. When the doors slid shut behind him, he had the grimly specific sense of a tomb being sealed, and yet he felt it wasn't to keep others out. No, that's not what it felt like to him. What he felt unnerved him greatly. It felt more like the metaphorical tomb was meant to keep something _in_. But what? What in the name of Primus was the Seeker, who had been quite civil in her conversation with he and Aegis, be trying to keep imprisoned, so desperately hidden from the optics of others?

Despite the hall not being cold, he shivered.

* * *

She hadn't realized she'd been slowing her air intakes and cooling fans ever since the two Praxians had come in. As soon as the door to her rooms hissed shut she let out a relieved gust of hot air from her vents, wings drooping from the ever so slightly hitched-up positions, field sneaking out of hiding by a minuscule amount. She leaned against the nearest wall as if exhausted. Hiding was exhausting, but she had to do it. They couldn't know. She wouldn't let them know. They were nice mechs. They didn't _need_ to know. They'd probably arrest her if they ever did find out. She worked alone for a reason: working alone was safer. She had no liabilities that way, and no one would ever have to see her turn into what she feared and hated most.

But now she had to work with a Praxian precinct – a precinct who didn't know her, thousands of klicks from the familiarity of home. She groaned. Damn her conscience. She'd have to grin and bear it.

Sighing again, she pushed herself off the wall and went over to the window that looked onto the city, bathing in the warm light from the sun that streamed in through the thick glass. She longed to be able to cast off her inner shadows just long enough to enjoy a day out there in the city, not working, but she snorted at the idea in the end. She didn't belong out there, in the light. She was doomed to wander in the shadows.

' _Yes, you do belong out there,_ ' argued a little voice in her helm, ' _If you'd only try..._ '

She snorted, pushed the insistent little voice of hope aside. Hope was too fragile for her, leading inevitably to disappointment. The Seeker femme drew away from the window then despite her desire to sunbathe a little longer. She so loved the warmth it brought to her perpetually cold frame, but she had things to do to prepare – namely alerting her Crystal City contacts she would be dropping by for a business visit for a while, along with a list of minor preparations. Aegis had given her a few solar cycles, true – that didn't mean she had to appear lazy by showing up at the last klik. An early start was always a good thing when it came to serial crimes. And she wasn't about to let another innocent die.

Sentenza thus went about her rooms gathering her things: a data pad for note-taking and inputting gathered information, her kit of forensics tools, a small can of armor polish (she liked looking her best when working), plus a two seemingly random items she took with her everywhere. These final ones seemed more befitting to be carried around by a sparkling than a full-fledged adult femme – items like a worn stuffed panther her Guardians had gotten for her when she was younger whom she had affectionately dubbed "Niv", and a small solar powered ion lamp. Fail-safes and comfort items, both. The last she wanted was the Nightdemon getting out in Praxus.

That done, she pinged Camber below to tell her the news:

"Hey, Cam? Got a job offer from those two cops that came up. Gonna be in Praxus and Crystal City for a while. Serial murders. Mad Doctor case."

* _Oh, miss, that's wonderful – not the murders o' course. I meant the job offer. Bein' cooped up in your rooms all the time ain't good for ye. I always says a good bit o' sunshine and socializing a little does a femme a world of good. I just wish that socializin' didn't entail lookin' at dead bodies an' the like, but I'm not one to judge a femme by her occupation. Best of luck to ye, dear! Lay that fiend by the heel struts!_ *

She smiled faintly. "Thanks, Cam. I will. See you in a bit. Watch my rooms for me."

* _O' course, dear. That's my job. Oh, and do tell me all about it when you get back, would ye? I always like hearing you tell about yer work. But, ah, keep the gristly details to a minimum, aye? You know I don't do gore._ '

Still smiling faintly and promising she would, Sentenza severed the line, grabbed her things, and headed out the doors.

* * *

High above the metal plains that interspersed shot a sleek black and red aircraft, engine screaming as it raced through the open skies. On crossing a region known as the Expanse, a small pack of Canipids, whom she recognized as the well-known and friendly Blue Moon tribe who inhabited the region, yipped up at her and followed beneath her for a while, chasing her shadow like overexcited pups. Out of courtesy she flashed some of her red wing lights down at them, earning more excited yips and barks. Then she gunned her thrusters and rocketed onwards.

* _Back! Back! Pretty shadow come back! Please?_ * they barked at her over short band before she got out of range.

* _Sorry, boys. Busy._ *

They whined and eventually withdrew.

A more logical part of her processor told her that taking a groundbridge from one of Kaon's precincts would be a faster way of getting to Praxus, but flying would enable her to soak in some much needed sunlight to charge the ion lamp sitting in her cockpit, not to mention that flying always served to lighten her mood. The sense of freedom and weightlessness it gave was better than the stupor provided by the medical grade sedatives by far. It was a longer trip this way, but far more beneficial. Plus, it _was_ rather nice out. Why shouldn't she enjoy the trip? Once she got to Praxus it would be all work.

About half a joor passed rather uneventfully before the city of Praxus began to emerge on the horizon, its tall buildings laid out with near mathematically strategy. It was quite a difference from the sprawling, somewhat randomized layout of Kaon, but in a strange way refreshing to look at, being much better organized. But that was often the result if well over half the inhabitants were ex or current military. They liked things rigid, well-defined. She flew into the city's limits, recalling the coordinates provided by Aegis's holo-card. Judging by them the precinct was located just on the outskirts of the city's downtown sector. That made sense. From what she knew, Aegis's precinct was the leading one, so having it right on the edges of the busiest place in the city made their lives a little easier – more 'Bots meant more information.

She flew high above the city, scanning the sectors below for what she sought. In the end, she found it. It wasn't a very impressive building in terms of architecture. It was large, more of a small complex than a single building, but also not very tall – only about five stories from the looks of it. And yet there was a ruggedness, a gruff charm to it that reminded her a little of home. The precinct was no architectural beauty, certainly nothing compared to the grand Hall of Records in Iacon, but it was sturdy and got the job done. Still, she thought it could use an artistic flair or three. The precinct was too visually dull for her tastes. Banking, she circled lower until she reached the front entrance. On duty at the doors was a young patrol officer who silently nodded her in, barely casting her a sideways glance. Out of insulted impulsiveness she flashed the mech a bewitching smile and flittered her wings at him as she sauntered past, noting with childlike pleasure the double take he did when interpreting her playful flirtations accurately. But she was through the doors and out of sight before the baffled, intrigued young mech could even kick his vocalizer into gear.

Once inside, she resumed a more professional air, stopping at a side office and inquiring, as she remained outside, where Aegis and Counterforce were. She added that they were expecting her.

The door was instantly opened to reveal a familiar golden and silver grounder mech, pale golden visor still down and mouth slightly agape. He looked like a startled golden statue. She could practically imagine him blinking in shock behind that visor of his. Then a pleasant smile formed.

"Detective? I-I, well, I honestly wasn't expecting you here so soon!"

She gave another bewitching smile that, to her pleasure, he didn't seem entirely immune to, "You'll find I'm full of surprises, Goldie. Now, are you gonna invite me in like a good host and fill me in on all the case facts?"

He started slightly. "Oh! Of course. Sorry. Please, come in. Have a seat."

Counterforce bade her enter into his modestly sized but very well organized office, pulling out a chair for her that sat opposite his side of the desk. Sentenza took note of the magna-board off to one side of the room, covered in holo-notes, neat handwriting, and photographs of crime scenes and evidence. She took note of the rows of data pads sitting on the mech's desk like rows of books in a terrestrial library, all neatly arranged into groups, each section labeled on the spines with titles such as "Evidence," "Witness Testimony," "Possible Suspects," and the like. The data pads were further organized by case file designation on their spines. A very organized mech in general – a trait no doubt helpful to him in his career. Maybe not the most attractive thing in the world though. Too serious.

While still unable to see his optics, she sensed they were busy flicking through the labels of the data pads. Within only a few moments he located the one he needed and expertly shimmied it out of its place in the "Evidence" row. He quickly skimmed through the contents and then began:

"First victim, mech, was found about two groons ago in one of the sub-surface transport tunnels below the Crystal City Academy of Science. Medic on the scene judged him as having been dead at least two joors. Faction badge missing; plainly removed. Detailed examination revealed his t-cog to have been surgically removed in a very amateurish or perhaps rushed manner. Killer severed a main Energon line in the process. Poor mech bled out, but we don't know where. Not even a Predacon tracker could find the actual death point. Most likely cleaned up. Later identified by some of the scientists within the facility as a low-level custodian in the building named Blackguard. No enemies. Good reputation from all accounts."

He handed her the data pad.

"This was the first killing?" Sentenza repeated.

"Yes. As a side note there were traces of anesthetic chemicals in his system. Faint but detectable. The medical examiner smartly pointed out that Blackguard must've been unawares during the removal of his t-cog. That shows the killer has at least basic knowledge of medicine and anesthesiology."

"And the others?"

"Much the same, though the killer became more and more skilled in the removal process. Paradoxically the victims all still ended up dying from a main line breach – a fast death, but unavoidably messy. Each had their faction badge removed along with one or more bio-mechanisms ranging from t-cog's to fuel tank filtrators to even optics and parts of processors."

She frowned. That was odd. The killer became more and more skilled in the extraction of parts but the victims still died anyway?

"Any definite suspects?" asked the Seeker after a moment of silence.

The Praxian grabbed another data pad, explaining:

"We started out fairly broad as you can imagine, but we've narrowed it down to Crystalline surgeons working at the Academy. One in particular we've got our optics on – name's Vertebreak. Decepticon surgical and cyber-grafting student. Not a stable personality by all accounts. He's gotten in trouble with the Academy more than once by breaking regulations and dangerously skirting ethics. But other than one or two psych evaluations that plainly judge him as unstable we've got no way of saying he's the one behind these deaths. Unstable doesn't necessarily mean dangerous."

"You need more evidence, huh?"

He managed a wry smile. "Unfortunately."

She rose. "Well. Let's get to it then, shall we?"

* * *

 **Author's Note: Oooh, yes. Here we go guys! CSI: Crystal City! x3**


	2. Chapter 2

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

Part 2: In the Dark of the Night

* _Note: I realize my link to the time keeping article didn't show due to filters on site, so go google "A Brief Essay on Cybertronian Time Conversion." Look for the_ _ **archiveofourown**_ _link; should be one of the first to pop up. Use this to understand all the alien time words in both mini-series better. :3_

 _*Note 2: I'm working a little of Praxcrown's head-cannon that Thallium is a very dangerous, often lethal substance. If put into Energon in small amounts it's perfectly safe and "enhances" the quality. Take it raw and it has a chance to kill you instantly. In my head-cannon it's more long term in effect and highly addictive due to hallucinogenic effects. Small amounts won't kill instantly but might over time. Overdoses are about as lethal as a gunshot to the heart._

* * *

Counterforce smiled and motioned for her to resume her seat, saying they couldn't go barging in without reason. As he had said, they had no solid evidence that would quantify a search warrant of Vertebreak's property or his Academy-issued lab. They had to be methodical about this, and while he was well aware of the detective's remarkable cloaking ability and her network of contacts, sneaking in was not an option open to them as the present time. Without a warrant, doing so could get her into heaps of legal trouble, not to mention the precinct might come under some unwanted scrutiny thanks to her working for them.

"I have no desire to see you jailed on our behalf, detective." he finished.

Slightly irritated but understanding of his line of thought, Sentenza sat back down. She had forgotten was it was like to be under the reigns of the official spectrum. Rules and regulations governed their every working moment. She on the other hand was used to be a bit more freedom of action. Kaonian law enforcement was more loose and open to liberal interpretation. So was she. Here, they might as well be wearing shackles.

The Praxian managed a wry smile at her impatience. He understood her wanting to get into the field as soon as possible. Frankly that was his desire, too. But certain things had to be arranged before they headed out to Crystal City. Her arriving so soon had taken him and the fifteenth precinct off guard, as they had been expecting a solar cycle or two to get everything set so they could head out once she got there. He glanced out his window, noting that it was getting fairly late in the day as well – Cybertron's host star was slowly starting to sink in the skies in accordance with the long drive he had undergone earlier in the morning and the half a joor or so it had taken the detective to get here. Furthermore, Crystal City's groundbridge system was impressive in scale, but because of that they were fairly regulated in their use. By the time evening fell the groundbridge into their sole police precinct would be shut down until tomorrow morning.

So lost in his musings was he that he missed the Seeker femme's question. "My apologies. I was lost in thought. What did you ask?"

"What do we do until you've got everything set and ready to go?" Sentenza repeated.

"You can get better acquainted with the precinct and the city if you like. I'll be busy arranging our arrival with my supervisor. I have the suspicion you aren't into the whole protocols and regulations thing, and I don't want to bore you into stasis lock. Most likely we'll be ready to go by tomorrow morning. You do have a place to stay here in the city, right?"

She shook her helm, her expression ever so slightly embarrassed. She explained she had contacts here in Praxus (though not many) but since she thought they would be leaving almost right away she hadn't thought to alert them of her presence in the city. She made a habit of always giving express notice to her contacts. Not giving them that notice would be bad form on her part and not fair to them.

"You...erm...wouldn't happen to know anyone willing to lodge me overnight, do you?" she asked. "I, ah, I don't tend to trust commercial lodgings for my own reasons."

Counterforce's wry smile bloomed into a genuinely pleased one. Gallantly he offered to let her spend the night with him in his residence. He was assigned to work with her after all, no one else lived with him, and he wasn't about to kick his partner onto the streets for the night. That wouldn't be right. He had an empty room she was more than welcome to.

She looked at him sharply, more than a little surprised. Whether or not he noticed the faint glimmer of suspicion in her optics she couldn't say. Most of the time such offers from mechs indicated an attraction, a desire to "get to know her" so to speak (in more ways than just friendly conversation and shared drinks) but Counterforce seemed to be offering this out of the kindness of his spark – a sense of formal, old-fashioned hospitality that she wasn't expecting from someone so...young. She considered for a moment before bowing her helm in acceptance even though wariness was beginning to build in her spark. The Praxian was blissfully unaware of the risk he was taking in harboring her under his roof, even if just for one night. Then again, anyone who harbored her under their roof at night was taking a risk, including Camber and the dozens of other tenants in her building. At the least he seemed capable of defending himself if her other half managed to claw her way out despite her efforts and precautions. If the reports circulating about him were to be be believed, he'd dealt with things just as bad as the Demon.

"I suppose there's no harm in it," she replied slowly, "You don't mind? I feel like I'm imposing too much on you. You barely know me. It's not asking too much?"

Counterforce merely smiled at her. "Not at all. I'd welcome some company. It gets a bit lonely some evenings I'll admit. And I'd...like to get to know you better."

She looked at him again, suspicion and surprise flashing in her red optics. He didn't sound like he was coming on to her. On the contrary, the mech sounded...sincere. Honest. He wanted to get to know her as a person, not because he wanted to scrape intimate acquaintance with her like most other mechs, and not because he felt bad for her either. Frankly the mech sounded like Camber when she offered a spare room to some poor scrounger or vagrant on the streets thanks to her generous spark. It was common decency speaking, not a more base desire. His inherent gallantry demanded he assist a femme in need.

In spite of her wariness she found herself smiling back at him. That sort of utterly selfless, courteous attitude wasn't something one stumbled across every solar cycle. And she found it very attractive.

' _A celebrity cop with a spark of gold and manners to boot. Huh. Who would've thought? It's a wonder the guy's still single._ '

The Praxian rummaged in his desk and brought out two items: a holo-card bearing an address of geographic coordinates and a little mechanism that looked like some sort of strange key. She quickly realized that it was the disabling mechanism for an electromagnetic lock. He handed both objects to her with a polite smile, the femme seeming to be in a mild daze as she took them from him. He was trusting her almost blindly. She could only hope he didn't come to regret that decision.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to get better acquainted with the city. Praxus isn't a place I come to often. Is that okay? I just...it would feel weird going to your residence when you're not there. I'll be back before sundown. Let's just say I've got...incentive to."

Counterforce assured her that wasn't a problem. Still, he eyed her curiously, getting the sense that "incentive" so she termed it wasn't him. Just the way she'd said the word made him shiver imperceptibly. There had been a darkness in her tone – the same darkness he'd detected when she'd told him that asking for _carte blanche_ had stemmed from a personal reason. But what was that personal reason? Where was that darkness coming from? What was this femme so determined to hide from him?

She rose and prepared to leave him. The moment she got to the sliding door the mech let out a small exclamation:

"Oh! Before you leave, I should probably give you my comm. frequency. Here," Fitting the action to his words, he pinged her over the common frequency, providing her with an easy means of contacting him whenever. A slight inclination of the Seeker femme's helm told him she had recieved it. He then continued, "Don't hesitate to ask me anything. If there's ever anything I can do for you...just let me know. Alright? You're my partner for this assignment. It's my task to make sure you're okay. I'd be a miserable excuse for a mech if I didn't."

Sentenza eyed him. As he watched, a war seemed to suddenly occur in her red optics. There was a desire in them, a desperate desire to confide in him, to throw herself at his pedes and beg acceptance and forgiveness from him for he knew not what. There was fear in them, too – fear deeper than he'd ever seen in his life. Not even snitches he had interviewed in the past were so terrified, and at least then he knew what they were scared of. Here, he was in the dark. And that worried him severely. Her desire battled against the fear but eventually, and much to his despair, the latter appeared to win out. Her fear had drowned out her desire to confide in him. He sensed her field retracted into her frame as her wings lowered stiffly. Her optics refused to meet his.

Bowing her helm, she ducked out of the office.

* * *

Sighing, the mech shook his helm and set about with his work. Try as he might, his thoughts kept wandering to his assigned partner and the odd emotional war he'd witnessed in her optics. She was far too afraid to ask for his assistance with whatever it was that was scaring her. That was painfully obvious. So there had to be a way to help her without her having to ask him or without him having to demand an answer from her. What though? She was clearly the independent sort, not one to go about asking help from strangers. But was is out of independence? Or was it her fear doing the talking? That fear was keeping her from trusting him. Was there any way he could lessen that fear? Perhaps once it was lessened she might open up to him. Maybe then she would provide him some answers to his questions. And maybe, just maybe, he might be able to help her with whatever it was that was tormenting her.

' _But what if you don't like those answers?_ ' a small part of him argued.

A small frown formed on his lip-plates. He was a homicide investigator he reminded his talkative conscience. When it came to solving murders and finding the killers, no answer was ever to his liking. Life was never all sunshine and rainbows. There was little in life that could truly shock him by this stage. Whatever the detective was hiding, whatever it was she was frightened of, it was simply information to be processed and analyzed – nothing more. She was a case to be solved, like any other he'd ever been assigned to. And no matter how long it might take, he'd solve her. At least, that's what he kept telling himself. Deep down he knew it was undoubtedly far more complicated than that. He understood that nothing in life was ever so simple or straightforward. But all that could wait until this evening. Right now he had to get back to work. Sentenza wanted to get out in the field by first light tomorrow, to see if more information might be gleaned, and so did he.

But his efforts to distract himself with his work proved nearly fruitless. The data pad he was busy with lowered back down onto the desk unconsciously. He gazed at the shut door, expression puzzled.

' _What are you so afraid of, detective?_ '

* * *

As soon as the door had shut behind her the Seeker femme had cloaked herself from sight in an attempt to hide the coolant-laced tears trickling down her cheeks. It took a great deal of effort to keep the emotions storming inside her contained enough to even use the cloak. Concentration was required to use it, and right now her processor and spark were a jumbled, chaotic mess. As it was, she managed – barely. The sentry at the main entrance jolted and looked around when the door slid open seemingly of its own accord. Curious as to the cause, he looked around in vain. On finding nothing amiss he simply shrugged it off and went back to his allotted task. Thus, he never saw what some termed the most efficient and ruthless private investigator ever sparked suffering what was, for all intents and purposes, a mental breakdown.

Sentenza rushed into a side street where she dropped her cloak, then slipped to the ground, knees pulled up tight against her chestplates.

' _Why? Why does he trust me? He's going to get hurt. Oh, you stupid, stupid femme. Why did you accept his offer?_ '

An answer came against her will: perhaps he truly had a desire to help her and maybe. And was having a friend she could lean on when she needed to really such a bad thing? Because that's what he was offering her it seemed – a simple, harmless, beneficial friendship forged out of trust and common decency. He had said if there was anything she needed to call him whenever. She was a guest in his city, and in Praxus all guests were treated with respect. That she was a femme only made the respect all the more important. But that hospitality, sweet as it was coming from him, was a little too blind for her liking. He was inviting a beast into his home, unaware. Having a friend though, someone she could trust enough to be wholly honest with, was something she never thought she would get. She trusted no one with the truth, not even her lessor. It was simply too dangerous. Keeping her distance was the only rational thing to be done. She just wanted a friend, someone she could lean on and rely on when things got too hectic for her to handle alone. Was that so wrong of her? She didn't have someone like that, and he _was_ offering it to her on a silver platter she reminded herself.

If he was trusting her out of decency, she might as well extend a hand back. It was only polite, and it wouldn't do to get him too suspicious too fast.

Taking in a steadying cycle of air, she forced herself back to her pedes. Almost instantly afterwards came a ping on her comm. link. She accepted the transmission. It wasn't a real-time communication – it was a recording. From Counterforce.

[Detective? Are you...are you okay? I-I didn't hit another nerve, did I? I apologize if I did. Just please, if you get the chance, call me and tell me that you're alright. Tell me where you are if you can, too. I'd rather I know where you are in case you need help.]

She snorted and shook her helm, stifling a laugh. This mech. He reminded her of a worried Guardian. In all the good ways.

She thus pinged him back, recording her voice and assuring him she was alright. Well, more or less. She'd explain more when he was done with his tasks and preparations for tomorrow and had someplace a little more private to talk. This sort of personal issue didn't feel right talking about wirelessly. It required a face-to-face. No assistance was needed on his part, really. He was busy enough without playing tour guide to her. Besides – how could it be termed exploring if she had a map?

Once the recorded message was sent off, she transformed and took off.

* * *

MACCADAM'S OLD OIL HOUSE  
UPPER WEST QUADRANT, PRAXUS

It hadn't taken a lot of searching to find the place. Sentenza was personally grateful that the famous Iaconian pub had branched out to other cities. In Kaon it was one of the places she frequented for rumors, gossip, and general intelligence gathering when on a case. When not working, it was a great place to kick your pedes up and unwind after a busy solar cycle. And that wasn't even to mention that this one in particular might be a hotbed of information about criminal cases. In a whole city of cops, this was a great place to do some official (and maybe not so official) snooping.

And lucky for her that the "contact" she'd mentioned to Counterforce just so happened to be one of the barkeeps. In her experience there was no better information provider than a barkeep. They heard all the local chit-chat and even knew some personal secrets of others thanks to the glossa-loosening effect of some of the fuels they served. If given the right payment, they'd divulge those secrets. That payment was very often information – a "give info to get info" barter system and, while rarer, monetary payments also happened. Those weren't bribes in the standard sense. The kind of 'Bots those applied to were vagrants on the streets who needed a bit of a donation just to keep going – the sort to "just happen to overhear or oversee something." Exceedingly useful, but their price tags were a tad larger.

So, with her mood lightening at the sight of the building, she dove down and reverted form. At the door was a deceptively lean-built femme colored pale blue and beige. The femme looked her over with a pair of sharp blue optics optics. Eventually she nodded her in.

"Try not to cause any trouble, will you?"

Sentenza smirked but said she would endeavor not to. She wouldn't be staying long. "Just here to chat with a friend," she assured the other.

"Mm."

Smirk only growing, she headed inside.

The sudden drop in lighting levels made the Seeker femme blink a few times to calibrate them. Whiffs of altered lubricants and ambient music made her feel more comfortable, yet it was still so different than the one in Kaon. That one was loud, raucous, and pretty damned fun. This Maccadam's was more formal in accordance with its location. But there were certain things about it that reminded her of home. As she wandered towards the back, more than a few slightly tipsy, less formal rookie officers eyed her out of fascination. A few of the braver, more outgoing (or perhaps tipsier) ones offered wolf whistles in her direction. Appreciative of the attention thrust at her, she smiled sweetly back at them and flittering her wings. Their seniors merely tipped their helms politely at her. To these individuals she responded more appropriately – a wink here, a harmless smile there.

She headed straight for the bar where a myriad array of mechs and femmes cheerfully served their patrons. One of them, a stocky little mini-con colored dark amber and mahogany brown, looked up on noting her approach, his rich caramel-hued optics fastening on her.

"Sen'za? That you?" he demanded.

She took a seat and smiled. "Hello to you too, Half-Pint. How're things?"

Half-Pint laughed. "Doin' fine. Thanks for asking. What about you? What brings you to the Law City? Can I get you anything? On me."

Sentenza told him what she wanted and Half-Pint set to work, listening as she answered: "What else? Working a case. Got an offer from the fifteenth here to help them out with a string of serial murders over in Crystal City. The Mad Doctor case. Kind of on layover right now. Got here faster than they expected and I caught them all off guard. And – get this – Aegis assigned me to work with Counterforce. Crazy right?"

Try as she might to sound pleased about this, she couldn't dispel the twinge of wariness in her voice.

The little mini-con's brow ridges rose curiously. He had caught that wariness all too easily. Thing was, he knew Counterforce fairly well. The friendly cop would pop in occasionally if he got a little lonely and they would swap stories for quite some time. He wasn't someone who inspired anxiety or fear. In point of fact, he was unnaturally talented at removing it. There was just something about him – an aura that served to soothe anyone he was around, like a warm embrace served to soothe an agitated or frightened sparkling. Be in his presence long enough and you simply began to trust him like any good friend.

He handed her the drink she'd ordered. "...Is something bothering you, Sen'za? You sounded happy about that, but excuse me for saying so – you didn't sound very convincing."

She sighed, accepting the cube of fuel but not touching it. She made it a point not to go blabbing about her issue even to some of the contacts she was closest with. She had wanted terribly to share the secret with Counterforce when he had offered his help to her in his office, but all that would have done was generate problems. He had seemed the sort to keep things discrete...but she had been too scared of the possible repercussions.

"No," she lied, "I'm just...nothing's wrong. I'm fine."

Half-Pint didn't look convinced. But in the end he decided to drop the subject. She looked emotionally weary right now, like she'd just finished letting all her emotions out at once and was in the recovery phase. He'd seen it more than a few times from frustrated patrons, and it usually betrayed a personal matter bubbling to the surface, being let loose, and then dying back down to normal levels.

He switched topics, "So? Mad Doctor case, eh? Isn't that a labeled coldy? They find new evidence or something? First I've heard if so."

She nodded. It was, and she didn't think so. From what Counterforce told her they had yet to add another victim to the guy's roster and they fully intended to keep it that way. Aegis had got her on the job to help gather evidence on possible suspects without raising the alarm. As of right now they had their optics on one particular mech at the Academy, but without solid proof of his being the Mad Doctor they couldn't run the risk of arresting him and having him acquitted. They wanted subtlety – something she was good at.

Leaning in suddenly, she whispered a question into the mini-con's audials: "Any news on Thunderhoof's movements?"

He shook his helm, privately glad to see her reverting back to her personal mission. He answered back in an equally soft whisper, optics flicking around furtively:

"Not on horn-helm himself I'm sorry to say. But one of his higher up goons calls this city home. He's in charge of a warehouse a dozen or so blocks away that stores processed high grade, and his lackeys help distribute it. All legal and aboveboard. At first glance he's done nothing but be a help to the city. But a couple of cops from the fifth got a bit suspicious of him and his business. Tried to look into it after a few buyers wound up headin' off to the light a little earlier than expected. Poor devils never reported back. Assumed offline. That was about an orn ago. Fifth's been trying to get answers all quite like, but they're not doin' too good. Friends of the missing are starting to ask too many unanswerable questions."

Sentenza frowned. This sort of story wasn't new to her. She'd been trying to track down and imprison Thunderhoof for stellar cycles now by going after his lieutenants and higher ups in order to send a message. It was her hope to one solar cycle force him out into the open and reveal him – right before she stuck him in prison to rust. So far the crime boss had yet to respond to her challenges. She knew however that such unresponsiveness could only last for so long. Sooner or later she'd hit a nerve or annoy him enough for him to come after her personally. And then she'd have him.

She rose. "I'll look into it on my way back. If not I'll look into it after I've got the Mad Doctor case wrapped up. Thanks, shorty. Take care of yourself."

"Same to you, Sen'za. Tell CF I said hello! And good luck on that case."

With her back turned, Half-Pint never saw the soft smile that formed at the mention of the friendly Praxian. But then a serious frown took its place, washing the smile away. Her whole frame stiffened imperceptibly. Twin curved wings lowered, held rigid. He watched as a patron walked by her from behind. When they had passed, the detective had simply vanished.

The double doors hissed apart, then closed.

A quick check of her chronometer and the position of Cybertron's star showed she might just have enough time to stop by the warehouse Half-Pint had mentioned before it got too dark. She wanted to look into these mysterious disappearances badly but had to adhere to her personal time limit. If she stayed too long and the star's light faded to the black of night she ran the risk of Her getting out. No. She wasn't going to let Her out – not here.

The last thing she wanted while working an official case was a Demon killing and the ensuing gory nightmares. She was determined to keep Her confined to Kaon. In a sense her home city needed the Demon. But Praxus? Their law enforcement branches were the best, unparalleled anywhere for their efficiency and success rates. Crime was rare here. They had no need of Her.

Finding the warehouse took about a breem. It was an unremarkable building like all warehouses were. What interested her most were the two sentries at the each of the doors, back and front. They looked like regular mechs at first glance. Upon closer examination it was revealed that all of them were armed with blasters. Odder still was that none of them bore any sort of official crest yet none of them had the appearance of hired thugs. They looked more like...high-end mercenaries or even undercover police agents.

' _Alright. That's interesting. Hired help. Who exactly do you boys think is gonna break in? If your little business is aboveboard and legal you shouldn't have to worry about that, should you? Hm. Maybe they stepped up security after those coppers from the fifth started snooping? Not a good sign if so. Indicates they might not be as legal as they look._ '

She circled once, noting their positions mechanically. Then, silent as a specter and just as invisible as one, she descended and landed on the building's unguarded west side. Quickly she rushed to the far end of the north side. Her movements then became cat-like in their execution, her pedes placed on the ground so delicately that almost no sound escaped. If anyone had been able to see her they might've been excused for letting their jaws drop at her feline grace. It had taken quite a while (plus some help from a few "retired" thieves) to perfect this movement style, but it had so been worth the time and effort.

Her pace slowed to a near crawl on drawing within arm's reach of the two guards. Neither seemed to take note of her, though she noted warily one of them appeared to have possibly heard her in the way he looked around all puzzled. Eventually he must've convinced himself it was just his audials playing tricks on him and thus relaxed.

One last cat-like step followed by a lunge towards the nearest dark corner and she was inside.

' _Now to do some snooping of my own._ '

Outside, Cybertron's host star sank ever lower...

For upwards of half a joor the Seeker femme persistently searched the warehouse for anything – anything that might hint at what had happened to the missing officers.

She searched the crates one by one with the meticulousness of a true investigator. That yielded next to nothing. All of the crates were filled with cubes of processed high grade and nothing else, though a few of them bore some traces of chemicals in them – nothing that wasn't legal however. No matter how she felt personally about such additives, arresting them over that would be silly and far from professional.

And so she continued on. She searched the ground beneath her for trace evidence, optics calibrating rapidly between various different spectra and wavelengths. This time she came up with something more substantial: very faint energy traces identical to that of Energon that plainly showed efforts had been made to remove the source. But that was the thing with Energon. You could remove it physically easily enough but its energy signal lingered for quite some time and was much harder to get rid of – almost impossible.

She knelt down and began a deeper analysis of the signal. Without the original stains it was impossible to ID who had been hurt or possibly killed here. An energy signal, especially one as faint as this, didn't offer much in the way of information. But perhaps she could follow the energy trail and find something that would help her with identification. It did seem to lead off in one direction. However, that led to a dead end. Literally. Once it hit a side door into a loading bay the trail became too faint to follow. That could either mean a corpse was dragged away for concealment or disposal or the injured target had run off to seek medical help. Seeing as Half-Pint hadn't mentioned any of the missing officers turning up in a clinic she suspected the former was the case.

But that still begged the question: what had the dead officer (or officers as the case may be) find that would warrant his or her demise? There didn't seem to be anything illegal here.

Her optics widened as realization struck: ' _Unless they found evidence of the guy in charge being one of Thunderhoof's lackeys!_ '

This wasn't the first time she had to remind herself that not everyone knew who worked for the crime boss. For her it was common knowledge – not to mention rumors were more likely to cross her audials – but for the officials it wasn't always so obvious. And it was an unfortunate fact that some of the cops had been bought off. Since that was the case and nothing here looked distinctly criminal she had to guess this whole issue was due to finances. This place was probably a funnel – most of the income went to the buyer or to the city but a small percentage went directly to Thunderhoof. Those poor sparks had probably tried to stake the place out in hopes of catching him. And since they obviously weren't on his payroll he had had them eliminated for their unwanted snooping into his business.

She decided to hide in the shadows and await further developments. The skies were growing dark but she swore to herself to make this quick. She'd find out what she wanted and get out before the night code began to surge. This was just recon. No one needed to get hurt. Hopefully the Demon would understand.

Of course, Sentenza should've known that such hope was pure folly. Especially when the Thallium dealers appeared after dark.

The Demon reacted the only way She knew how:

Attack.

Counterforce had waited patiently at his residence for the detective to show when he had arrived just before sundown. He was still waiting, half-absorbed in thought and half-absorbed in the data pad he sat reading in the small but comfortable lounge. Try as he might to distract himself with the newest advances in forensic science he was beginning to grow concerned. She had told him she would be there before dark because she had incentive to. And yet now it was dark out and the moons were rising.

He was about to give in to the concern and issue a request for a search party when he heard the magnetic lock to his back door – _back_ door, not front – disengage. Might that be her? But then why was she using the back entrance? It was more polite to use the front. Not that he really cared about something so trivial at the moment. He just found it odd.

He dropped the data pad and darted towards the entrance in question, relief flooding his systems. He reached it just as the door hissed open. Framed in the doorway was a familiar silhouette. He was about to give her a warm welcome and invite her in, but any further relief he might have felt on seeing her evaporated when the silhouette came into full clarity – and then promptly collapsed over threshold. Only groons of conditioning kept him from reeling at the grisly sight that lay at his pedes:

Sentenza's deep black frame was splotched with bright blue Energon from her helm to her heel struts. Some had already begun to dry while most of it was still fresh and currently busy dripping off her body and forming tiny puddles beneath her. Energon, moreover, that definitely _wasn't_ hers. At least, he sure hoped it wasn't hers...Primus, what had happened to her?

The Praxian reacted swiftly. As gently as he could he hefted her from the floor, carried her over to the lounge and laid her on a long-seat. Then he rushed off and came back with a large piece of cloth soaked in cleaning solution. He was intelligent enough to know that removing the Energon might destroy evidence as to what had transpired but for one of the rare moments in his life he simply didn't care about who or what had done this to her. Right now she didn't need a cop nosing for answers. She needed a healer. And at the moment he was as close as she was going to get to one.

Some of the relief came trickling back on discovering that the Energon indeed wasn't hers. Nowhere on her frame were signs of inflicted trauma. Whatever had happened she hadn't been on the receiving end. That was some small consolation to him. But considering how much of the foreign fuel had spattered on her he dreaded to know the fate of the one who _had_ been.

His hopes rose somewhat when she stirred weakly at his gentle touch. Her optics flickered open, revealing them to be far darker in hue than he recalled. Then, as he watched, a hiss escaped from her and the color began to brighten. The darker hue seemed to retaliate and once more took the place of its brighter ruby shade. He knelt there, unable to process what it was he was seeing but aware enough that she needed help of some kind.

"Light...need light...Can't...can't fight her..."

"What? Fight who?" Counterforce wondered.

"Light...please..." she rasped desperately.

He had an inkling of suspicion as to what she was asking for. Counterforce rose half-way to his pedes. As her optic color warred with itself, he concentrated and held a hand over her frame, praying all the while inside that this assumption of his was right. Within moments a strong golden glow emanated from the outstretched limb, illuminating the room and the Seeker beneath it like a small star had come to rest there.

Counterforce was pleased to see the optic-color-switching slow. Finally it came to a grinding halt, ruby red overtaking its maroon rival for good. He heard Sentenza let out a shuddering sigh, watching as her body went almost completely limp as if from exhaustion. He permitted himself a smile at his success, though it was somewhat strained. There was something going on with her and he meant to find out what. But that could wait. She was in no state to be answering questions.

Then he rose fully. He left the room only to return with two cubes of glowing fuel, one of which he handed to the barely conscious Seeker femme.

"Here. Drink this. You look like you need it."

One trembling hand took the offered fuel. She took one or two tiny sips before setting it aside. He thoughtfully took it from her and placed it on the low table in front of her before taking a seat himself. Another sigh escaped her vocalizer, this one a little less shaky than its predecessor. He watched her curl up and tuck her wings against her back. He noted that she was still trembling imperceptibly. On an impulse he got up, went over to her, and placed a hand on her upper arm, stunned to find it almost as cold as ice. Almost instantly the trembling stopped.

"If you need anything, anything at all, don't be afraid to ask me. Alright?" he murmured.

He made to return to his seat but the Seeker clutched at his hands. Her terrified ruby optics looked up at him, reminding him of a frightened sparkling rather than a fully matured adult femme.

"C-Could you stay? I'd...feel better if you did. And could you keep the lights on?"

The Praxian smiled and held up a digit in silent request for her to hold a moment. He grabbed one of the chairs and dragged it over to one end of the long-seat, ensuring he was within arm's reach of her. Then he took a seat, leaned back, and shuttered his optics. Soon the peaceful blackness of light power down had claimed him. Come morning, his answers would come. But for now, he was simply happy to be of help to her. Primus only knew she needed it after whatever had happened.

At some point during the night a slight noise woke him partially. It was been too faint to identify by sound alone, so behind the pale visor one pale silver optic peeped open to investigate. Sentenza appeared to have shifted position to get more comfortable...and it looked like she was holding something in her arms – something black and fuzzy slightly smaller than a mini-con. A quick investigation showed it to be a well-worn stuffed panther with bright green eyes. A smile formed.

That smile broadened when he felt Sentenza's hand touch his a bit hesitantly before her slender digits interwove between his own.

They stayed like that for the remainder of the night.

 **Author's Note: Phew! Here's the second part of the mini-series. Long chapter is long! This took me a while but I'm having waaay too much fun with these two. x3 Point of fact I got a lot of this done on Christmas Eve (because of course) when my brain refused to let me sleep. I was alternating between this and doing small jobs for Vex and Delvin in Skyrim to just pass the time.**

 **Why is it that I always seem to write better when I'm suffering an attack of the brain buzzies? o.O**


	3. Chapter 3

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

* * *

Part 3: Shadows in the Light

 _*I decided on following a Deviant's possible time scale of 15-20 years after Transformers: Prime instead of my previous one for this particular story. Kinda forgot that my "First Star I See Tonight" story does technically allow for that, since Raf is mentioned. They made me want to involve the kids so bad! Personally I'd put a guesstimate at around 25-30 years, because an entire planet doesn't repopulate and reconstruct itself in short time scales even if you involve cyber matter. Takes time is my point._

* * *

Counterforce, by virtue of his busy work life, was an early riser. The very instant sunlight began streaming into his living area his optics flickered open behind his visor. For a brief fraction of an astrosecond he wondered why his hand was dangling over the side of his chair and clasping the slender digits of a pitch black Seeker femme. Then his processor whirred back to life, and he remembered the grisly yet odd events of last night that had led to his current bizarre situation. Much as he didn't want to disturb Sentenza he simply couldn't let her stay in power down for the whole morning, at the same time his limited medical knowledge told him she needed to recover from whatever had happened the previous night.

Last night...

His processor wandered back to that time seemingly of its own accord. As well as he had concealed it, the whole thing – the strange optic switching, the Energon coating her entire frame, and her fear of being left alone and in the dark – had left him both immensely curious and deeply rattled. He wanted answers about that badly, but he understood the presently slumbering Seeker might not be forthcoming with information. Rattled as he may have been at the time, she had seemed even more so. She had devolved from the seductive, intelligent, impatient femme that he had met that morning and afternoon into a sparkling frightened of her own shadow on the walls. And yet...the way she had acted – a certain grim, forced calm deep in her optics – indicated this mayn't have been the first time such an..."episode" had happened. She had known how to cope with it.

His mind continued to pick at little pieces of data as he recalled them. The desperation for a powerful light source had puzzled him at first, though after seeing it effectively fix whatever was going on with her optics he knew there was something important there. That "incentive" she had mentioned just before leaving his office – might that be related to her craving of light sources? Was her incentive getting someplace safe, bathed in light, before the biggest light source of them all – Cybertron's host star – set for the day? But if that was indeed the case here, what exactly had happened out there in the dark?

He shook his helm in bewilderment. Whatever was happening with this femme, solar light was a blatant remedy to it. Interesting in itself.

' _Her...she mentioned a her. She said "Can't...can't fight her..." Who's "her?" There was no one else here,_ ' Counterforce wondered to himself.

He mulled over this mystery until the Seeker at his side stirred weakly.

* * *

She for one had enjoyed the dreamless oblivion of deep recharge. It had been a welcome relief from the nightmare she had anticipated. But now, with comforting sunlight hitting her frame and her chronometer forcing her processor back into its active state against her will, she knew there was no hiding in that darkness anymore. She had to come out into the light much as she profusely didn't want to. Thus, the Seeker stirred and un-shuttered her Predacon yellow optics. She blinked back a brilliant glare, at first thinking it was Cybertron's host star at a very annoying ascension angle. Only after checking her orientation did she realize it wasn't a star but its light reflecting off a dulled golden and silver target. When her optics calibrated at last her processor locked up in unison with her frame at what – or more accurately _who_ _–_ sat at her side, gazing at her with the most patient expression she had seen of anyone with a visor.

"Detective? Are you alright?" Counterforce inquired softly.

She felt him release her hand. It was all she could do to resist the urge to reach out and snatch it back. As it was, she simply sighed and hung her helm. Her wings, before now held in a semi-relaxed position, drooped. Despite the visor hiding his optics from her, she knew what it was he wanted from her. He was an eyewitness to last night's aftershock, and in the end he probably deserved to know. She didn't quite know why...but she trusted him now. The fear of telling him that had been so strong the other day was like a distant memory.

"Sentenza? What aren't you telling me?" His tone was slightly firmer.

Again she sighed as she massaged her aching temples, "Take it easy will you? Rough night."

He looked at her. She felt as if the visor was piercing through her, examining her on a level far deeper than she thought possible for a mortal mech. Judged – that's what it felt like to her. The Seeker felt as if her very soul was being put on trial and examined. And yet she was not afraid. Counterforce's hidden gaze served to put her at ease.

"I'm not going to demand an answer. You can tell me on your own time. If you don't want to discuss it right now...I understand."

A third sigh, soft like a warm breeze and accepting, escaped her vocalizer. She debated how best to start this dark tale off and thus began, "What do you know of the _Tcsovan niv a'anoth_?"

She could almost see his hidden optics widen by a fraction behind the visor. Glyphs for surprise, confusion, and intrigue danced around in his field before fading. Clearly her tactic of bluntness had succeeded in getting his attention.

"The mysterious vigilante of Kaon who hunts Decepticon criminals? I – well, not very much. No one does. Frankly if it weren't for the corpses that kept showing up in Kaon and the testimony of the rare survivor, I would've labeled the Nightdemon an urban legend and left it at that. There is literally no physical evidence on file for her despite the killer being active for nearly a quarter of a vorn by this point. All information on the Demon is by word of mouth, and even that is incredibly limited and not exactly reliable," He paused. "Why?"

Sentenza's helm hung even further, her wings reaching their lowest possible point. Then her helm rose up and her yellow optics locked with his visor. Her voice when she spoke was soft and yet hoarse, temporarily rendering it unrecognizable to the Praxian at her side.

"Because I'm her. I'm the Nightdemon of Kaon."

* * *

For upwards of a breem he sat there digesting the fantastic claim. It seemed utterly incredible. He couldn't believe – didn't _want_ to believe it, but the logical part of his processor admitted that certain things did add up when taken together with her proclamation. Sensational as it sounded, a few points of conflict and confusion were now clear.

First and foremost was the total lack of evidence at the sites of Demon killings and attacks. Normally criminals left something at the scene, something that was often so small that they never even thought about it. At a Demon crime scene, there was only ever a body and spilled Energon. While Kaonians were inclined to believe her a supernatural force – a vengeful spirit for instance – he understood now that it was due to her extensive forensics training. The Demon wasn't a spirit, rather an intelligent, fully physical femme whose knowledge of crime investigation rendered her more than capable of covering her own tracks. The second point of confusion was the plain fact that no one had ever seen the vigilante, not even the rare half-dozen survivors. That in itself was what had led to the widespread belief the Demon was a supernatural entity. But in reality it was nothing quite so dramatic. Sentenza's cloaking talent was the real reason no one, living or dead, had seen her. That also directly explained some of the odd splatter patterns at kill sites – a good number of reports had said that spurting Energon had been blocked by an obstacle, though that obstacle had never been found. And the energy trail normally left on such a target? That had been tampered with so it was both contaminated and too faint to follow – yet more evidence pointing to the Demon's knowledge of forensics.

But even with those questions answered, it still left one to which there seemed to be none.

"Why?" Counterforce wondered. "You're an officer of the law. You should know not to take the law into your own hands."

He watched the Seeker's helm drop again. The shame and self-loathing in her optics was too clear to miss.

"Because I-I have no real choice. She – the Nightdemon – is me without the restraints. I can't always fight the impulse off on my own. That's why I needed you to use your light talent to weaken it. The other me's weakened by exposure to solar photons. She was just too strong for me to fight last night. I would've used my ion lamp that I brought with me, but at that point into the takeover I think you know I was in no state to be using it. If you hadn't done that, used your power...I think there was a real risk the other me would've tried to kill you. She doesn't like eyewitnesses."

At that Counterforce blinked. It wasn't her knowing of his never-before-documented ability. Anyone who had heard of him knew of it. Instead, his internal surprise stemmed from the unusual fact that this...whatever it was had a rather strange weakness and a seeming sentience of its own. That amounted to only one type of malware – a dissosciative personality one. While rare, such corrupted personality coding did happen (though why was a subject of intense debate in the psychological community) and resulted in a splitting of one's psyche. In the grand scheme the other personality wasn't typically harmful and posed no outward risk, but Sentenza's was downright dangerous going by the number of kills it had made and the attitude it possessed.

He felt the conversation go full circle.

"And last night? What happened?" he pressed gently.

Reluctantly, her voice shaky, Sentenza explained. She first told of her stop by Macadam's and her conversation with the bar tender Half-Pint. She held nothing back, repeating every word.

"Yeah. The missing officers of the fifth. Figures Thunderhoof was involved with that. We had suspicions, but no leads. Go on."

Sentenza continued on. She recounted her arrival at a nearby warehouse where the officers had reportedly vanished. Her investigation had revealed that one or possibly multiple targets had been killed within the building, but she had been unable to locate any bodies. The faint energy trail had stopped just outside a loading bay where she assumed the bodies had been loaded and transported off site for disposal. Dissatisfied, she had refused to quit even as the Cybertron's star sank lower and lower in the skies. And so she had taken up a vigil in the warehouse to see if any more information might be gleaned.

"Go on," It was all he could do not to shiver. Knowing what he knew of the Nightdemon, her motives, and actions, he didn't like where this was going.

"I...I found out why the cops were snooping. After it got real dark, a couple of Thallium dealers showed up. They used the warehouse, which is owned by one of Thunderhoof's goons, as an easy way to transport their goods around. I never got my hands on the owner, but the dealers," she shuddered. "You saw what I looked like the other night. I take it you've read a few case files, so you know what the Nightdemon does to criminals. Take a guess as to what happened."

"...You killed them."

"Yes," Just the monosyllable, but there was a wealth of self-loathing and hatred in it.

The Seeker femme was unable to meet his expressionless visor. Her optics and wings dropped away from him in tandem, her hands wringing. He had every right to pull out a pair of cuffs and arrest her right here, right now. She was a vigilante who killed, and had killed four mechs just the other night and dozens of others in the past. So she was surprised when she felt a hand laid on her cold arm – a hand that felt like warm sunbeams, just like she had felt last night. Sentenza thus looked up, coolant tears preparing to fall, and was surprised at what she saw gazing back at her.

* * *

Counterforce's optics. The visor was gone now, revealing a hypnotically beautiful case of heterochromia. One optic was burning gold like the sun at its zenith while the other shimmered pale silver like soft moonlight. Contrasting though they were, each held not condemnation but sympathy and understanding. She didn't struggle as he pulled her closer, and she didn't try to stop her tears from flowing. He simply held her in his warm embrace, wiping some of the tears away silently as she let her shame and hatred of herself out.

She managed to stammer out: "Y-You're not arresting me? You're not upset? Angry?"

"No, no," he shushed her. "You need help, not jail time. As far I'm concerned, you and the Nightdemon are two entirely separate entities. Sentenza wasn't the one to end those dealers last night. That was the Demon's doing, not yours. I have no cause to arrest you. You're not the Demon. You were trying to help a friend by solving a local case. You solved it, but Fate is a fickle mistress and obviously decided to give you a bad hand. That's not your fault."

She managed a short, harsh laugh. Fate had been giving her bad hands ever since the malware code had surfaced. Fate so he called it had ruined her entire life. She would never be able to enjoy a night on the town or an evening get together with friends. Frankly, friends were an indulgence she would never have. But the most damning of bad hands was that she had lost the privilege of being able to trust herself thanks to Her. She was alone – forced into isolation to protect herself and those around her from the darkness that lived within her.

She was a murderer. She deserved no friends. She deserved to be alone.

"Wrong. You have a friend."

She looked at him for a klik before snorting derisively, "If only..." She then pulled herself away, but Counterforce gently grabbed her arm thus forcing her to look at him.

"You have a friend," repeated the Praxian more firmly, "and you're looking at him right now."

* * *

They arrived at the fifteenth precinct within a quarter of a joor. On heading to the commissioner's officer, they found Aegis patiently skimming through data pads apparently waiting for them. The mech was mumbling softly to himself as he read aloud the information, though the words were barely comprehensible. One sentence, however, was clear as a gunshot on a still night:

"T-This doesn't make any sense..."

Sentenza found herself intrigued. A quick glance at their backs and a sneaky wireless hack showed they revolved around a case of four Thallium dealers found dead earlier that morning. No evidence at the scene other than Energon splatter that matched some Nightdemon killings in Kaon. No eyewitnesses either. But the owner of the warehouse where they were found was now under intense scrutiny. It looked like the fifteenth precinct was the one that would be investigating her murder. She didn't know whether to feel sorry or glad about that.

The mech looked up on hearing their entrance and nodded to Counterforce. His optics widened a little on noting the detective, one brow ridge rising curiously. She looked haggard, exhausted – like she had flown a marathon.

"You alright, Sentenza?"

"Yeah," she said as she massaged her temples. "I just...I had a rough night. You got any diluted Red around here?"

"Break room's down the hall and to the left. Grab something and come back. The techs over in Crystal City should have their groundbridge network up and running by now. So we're ready to go whenever you are."

She nodded and left the two mechs, returning in a short while with a small cube of fuel that glowed pale red. Red Energon, while normally a means of temporarily replicating a speed-gifted's blessing, could be diluted and certain chemicals added to make it a powerful stimulant – perfect for waking up a tired processor or frame. Or in this particular case an emotionally and physically exhausted detective in desperate need of a systems-wide wake-up call.

The two mechs she found to to be waiting for her outside the office, and on spotting her they motioned for her to follow. They led her down a few corridors until all three arrived in a medium-sized hexagonal chamber where a lone operator stood at the ready. On spotting the arrivals, he saluted to Aegis with a crisp "Sir!" and then turned to the groundbridge hub before him. He typed in the coordinates in a flash before yanking down on a lever to his right.

"You'd better get going. I got a call from their groundbridge tech just before you got here, sir. Something's happened. Didn't say what though."

Aegis frowned grimly as he quickly vanished inside the waiting wormhole. Sentenza and Counterforce shared a worried glance. Then they followed him through.

* * *

The three investigators were accosted the moment they stepped out of the groundbridge. A young mech rather resembling a jittery needle with jet wings rushed over to them in a flash as the portal behind them closed. The way his armor was held tight along with the slight trembling of his hands showed him to be in a state of nervous excitement. Judging by the message he had given the Praxus tech, that couldn't mean anything good. He introduced himself shakily as Fuse, the groundbridge technician for Crystal City's precinct, and would they please come with him? Chief Carbine wanted a word with them. The precinct was in a state of turmoil at the moment as they tried to keep the issue at hand on the down low.

"What for?" Aegis demanded, an inkling of horrible suspicion growing in his spark. "What's with all the secrecy, kid?"

Fuse refused to make optic contact then. He only answered that that was for Carbine to tell them, not him. He just manned the precinct's groundbridge...though that hadn't stopped him from overhearing the officers whisper amongst themselves this morning. He knew what was going on, he knew what Carbine wanted to talk to them about – and it wasn't good news from all he'd gathered. But again, it wasn't his place to tell. He was just to bring them to him.

Aegis's grim frown made a vengeful return. He had a pretty good idea now of what Carbine had to tell them.

The young technician left them when they reached the office in question. Inside, Carbine waited for them, pacing to and fro with a deep frown on his face and mumbling some rather colorful curses. He paused in his tracks and looked up sharply on noting their arrival.

"It's about slagging time, Aegis!" growled Carbine.

Counterforce took note of the aggression and made the astute guess, "Another killing, sir?"

Carbine's anger simmered down at the sight of golden and silver Praxian. He'd heard good things about him, and Aegis had readily vouched for his remarkable skills the previous solar cycle. And he had heard of his many successes with serial cases. The Seeker at his side though? He got a bad sense from her despite her formal bearing. Some deeply coded instinct was telling him to watch himself around her. Setting aside that feeling with an effort, he grunted confirmation and clarified:

"Found just before dawn by some reckless young punk and his friends racin' around for kicks. Too much high grade I'd wager. No clues so far, and the body's yet to be identified. Early as yet though. Scene's still being combed if you want a look at it. Medical examiner's there. I have to stay here and be ready for the storm of reporters that I just know'll show up at any klik. Just please, I'm beggin' you – stop these murders before any more innocent 'bots die."

"We will. We have a secret weapon, remember?" Aegis reassured, motioning with his helm towards Sentenza.

Sentenza's Predacon yellow optics flashed. "This scraplet won't take another life. You have my word."

* * *

The crime scene was clear across town just inside an abandoned tunnel entrance. Officers had cordoned it off to keep evidence from being tampered with, and probably to keep nosy passerby or reporters from getting too close. A single Draconian Predacon snuffed around the tunnel, snout to the ground as it tried to pick up a scent. But judging from the whining hisses, it wasn't having much luck. Sentenza, Counterforce, and Aegis were let inside wordlessly by a patrolmech – looking quite relieved to see them – who jerked his helm towards the tunnel.

"In there."

They slipped past the frustrated Draconian and into the semi-darkened tunnel. Deeper within, officers canvased the area for evidence of any kind. But closer at hand, a trio of investigators were gathered around the body of a small, stocky femme who looked rather the worse for wear and was missing an optic. Another 'bot, a towering silver and white mech with red triage markings on his arms hovered around the terminated frame, inspecting it and taking notes on a data pad.

"I take it you're the ME?" Aegis guessed.

The silver mech looked up sharply, "Ah! Yes, I'm the ME. Name's Mourncall. You're Commander Aegis and Counterforce of Praxus's fifteenth precinct and detective Sentenza of Kaon, correct?"

"That we are," Counterforce replied, "Got anything for us about this poor spark? Other than the fact she was obviously involved in manual labor of some sort?"

Mourncall shook his helm. Other than that, the missing optic and a few other parts, and the clear evidence of her being killed in the generally quick but messy manner of the Mad Doctor – a main line slashing – they had yet to find anything. There wasn't even an energy trail to follow. And they still hadn't a clue who the poor femme was. To find anything more about her he'd have to take her back to his lab and do a detailed analysis. He did suspect however that she had been drugged like the others before her. The killer was very persistent about his methods, rarely varying in that aspect.

"Any eyewitnesses?" Sentenza demanded.

"None. We tried asking the buzzed racer and his friends at the precinct but they said they swore they saw nothing out of the ordinary. One of 'em saw the body and had another call the precinct. Carbine doesn't know whether or not to believe them on the first part. He thinks one or more of them did see something seeing how they're so adamant that they _didn't_ see anything. Hopefully you will have better luck at getting them to talk."

"I suppose we're free to look around?"

Mourncall assured them they could, though he advised them to be careful. The scene was still being canvased.

Aegis saw the two younger 'bots share looks and then split up. Counterforce stayed near the body, his unusual optics darting around rapidly in search of trace evidence. Sentenza went deeper into the tunnel until her dark frame melded with the shadows. Only her red accents, which now shone faintly, let him know she hadn't gone into the tunnel proper. As strategic as the splitting was he got the oddest inkling that there was something going on between them, especially when the femme would look over in the other mech's direction every so often.

He came to a decision, "You two help out here. I'll head back to the precinct and see if I can get our finders to tell anything more."

"Oh! They're not at the precinct," Mourncall corrected. "We sent 'em on home. Couldn't hold them all morning, you know. We do have their contact details though. Ask Carbine for them."

The Commander nodded acknowledgment to the ME and strode swiftly back into the mid-morning sunlight. He had the sense Sentenza would work better anyways if she felt she wasn't being supervised.

* * *

Counterforce had to admit to himself that he wasn't hopeful of finding who did this. His methodical searching of the area around the body revealed almost nothing of use. The most substantial thing he had discovered was something that was already marked by the Crystal City officers: a few tiny drops of Energon in an easily recognizable single-drop pattern. Since there was no other source of Energon at the scene, that indicated the body might have been dropped. But why then the lack of other stains? If it had been carried the stains would not have been circular but more elongated and oval-like in shape, revealing the body's motion. Yet it seemed like the dead worker had blinked into existence as though by magic.

"Mourncall? Any idea when she was killed?"

"Judging by the temperature of the Energon inside her, I'd guess she met her end sometime in the pre-dawn hours. Can't give particulars until I get her to the lab. Will say this is the most recent we've gotten to a scene. Lucky for us the eyewitnesses were racers, huh?"

The mech rose from his crouch, brow ridges furrowed. Something wasn't adding up here. A body just couldn't pop into existence from nowhere, and something told him the corpse at his pedes wasn't a natural teleporter. Grounders were rarely teleporters. There was a solid, logical reason for this oddity. He was drawing a blank as to what though. This didn't quite match the evidence at other crime scenes. Oh, it was the same person alright – he knew that. But the method of deposition had changed slightly. The one here...it seemed rushed.

"Sentenza?" he called. "Anything on your end?"

"Don't know whether you or the other guys checked this or not in your area, but I'm getting very faint traces of energy over here – not from Energon, either. It's a lot more concentrated despite it dispersing."

One of the Crystal City officer's helms snapped up: "Rather like the residual vortex energy of a groundbridge, perhaps?"

Sentenza emerged from the shadows smiling. Wain though the smile was, Counterforce's spark skipped a pulse. And it seemed the other officers weren't immune to her grim beauty either.

"That's what I was about to say."

"Hm. That's interesting," Counterforce hemmed darkly. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but every other time a body's been found, it's been found in a manner like this, right? Next to no evidence (other than traces of spilled Energon that led nowhere) and always found in or very near a tunnel to the underground?"

All present nodded.

"This here – the droplets you found?" He pointed. "They're single-drop. The other patterns at the other scenes were not single-drop but motion-drop. I think we can all agree that the killer's been using a groundbridge to transport his victims away from the kill site or maybe even some kind of teleporting device. That explains the lack of spilled fluid and why Predacon trackers have had no luck. There's nothing for them to trace because the trail ends."

The officers murmured agreement.

"Makes sense," Mourncall said. "Groundbridges are always two-way. Predacons track by following the unique mineral and chemical imprint in a target's Energon; also means it's a little harder for them to track blind because their olfactory sensors have no sample on record. At least, that's how it goes when tracking 'Bots. Tracking targets like odd smell they can do fine without a sample on record. When the vortex shut off, the scent trail was interrupted."

"But the residual energy from the vortex? You've never detected that at a scene before?" Sentenza demanded, one slender brow ridge rising curiously.

Mourncall shook his helm. "No. Like I said, this is the earliest we've gotten to a scene. I may be just the ME, but I _am_ from Crystal City. Groundbridges were practically invented here in the Golden Age, and anyone here with a background in the sciences is required to understand the basics about them. I know that the energy from a groundbridge doesn't linger for very long – I think it takes about joor or so to dissipate entirely. Fuse could give you the exact number."

"We never picked up this energy because we got to the scenes after that time limit had gone by," an officer close by added. "All the bodies before now were located in very hard to find places with very low chances of being spotted – a lot of them were in abandoned or closed off sections of tunnels that date back to the War. This one isn't, which is why we got here so fast and why the energy's still there."

Counterforce and Sentenza nodded. The killer had either made a mistake when directing the groundbridge portal, or perhaps this was a sort of grotesque present for Crystal City's precinct – a grim taunt over their lack of success. Whatever the reason, they probably weren't going to get anything else from the scene. A glance at Mourncall revealed he thought the same: that the rest of the information lay with the body.

It was time to return to the precinct's lab.

* * *

Sentenza and Counterforce waited off the side while Mourncall worked. If it weren't for his constantly saying what he was doing and finding, the silence would have been unbearable. Even then, neither of the two observers really paid much mind as to what he was doing or saying. The Seeker herself rather expected the mech to avert his gaze as the ME carefully opened the body up to examine its inner workings, but she was marginally surprised to note a steeliness in his strange optics. Going by his career of homicide investigation, she figured this was something he was used to seeing by this point – an unpleasant necessity of the job. He didn't like it, but homicide always entailed death and bodies.

' _Hmph. If he doesn't like death, why's he so intent on helping me_ _–_ _protecting me? I've got about as many bodies to my name as he's got solved cases._ '

She happened to glance at him out of the corner of her optic and saw he was doing the same. The mech shook his falcon-styled helm at her imperceptibly, almost as if he knew what she was thinking. His field broadened to briefly mingle with hers. ~ _argument~_ She was different; a special case. ~ _contradiction_ ~ This poor femme had been killed pre-meditatively, whereas the Demon slew anyone She happened across guilty of illegal activity.

Sentenza emitted a barely audible hiss as she forced her glance away. That was where he was wrong. She'd killed pre-meditatively before now. He need only look up the case files concerning some of Thunderhoof's higher ups. It was unfortunate, but both sides of her agreed it was the only way to get the crime boss's attention. A ping on her private frequency nearly made her jump. As it was, she managed a sideways glance at him.

* _Detective_ , y _ou don't have to let the Nightdemon define who you are_ _–_ _or rule every aspect of your life. She has no power during the day. As of right now, you're free of her. And if she gives you trouble while we're working here in Crystal City, I'll help in any way I can. If that means doing what I did last night, fine. So long as something works, use it._ *

Some of the internal loathing died down. She managed a slight nod, thanking him again for his actions the other night. The two then refocused on Mourncall, who seemed to be wrapping up his analysis. His expression was grim though not in the least horrified or surprised. He noticed the looks they were giving and spoke up:

"No question now. Definitely killed by our Mad Doctor. Main line's been slashed with a very sharp, very thin blade – my guess a surgical instrument. Some of her bio-mechanisms are missing, too. I won't go into specifics over which ones were taken. They seem to be taken at random each time. What I find interesting is the evolution of style in the removal process itself. It started out quite amateurish, yet now its professional quality. If we weren't dealing with a killer, I'd actually go to this mech or femme for a surgical procedure. And my suspicion was correct: just like the others, this unfortunate femme was drugged with powerful anesthetic chemicals."

"That's what I don't really understand," said Sentenza. "Your Mad Doctor, whoever he or she may be, is ruthless enough to kill but merciful enough to put his victims under before he deals the killing blow."

Counterforce nodded, frowning. Those two pieces of evidence heavily contradicted themselves. He voiced his own opinion after a klik of silence, "If you ask me, I think we should be trying to figure out what's being done with the missing parts. They're clearly being taken on purpose for some reason. I know it's a bit of a taboo subject...but illegal cyber-grafting and the bio-mech black market are two unfortunate but very real problems. Might be a long shot, but maybe our killer is one of the suppliers for the market? Rather odd that he kills in that case; most suppliers just remove the part and let the donor, willing or unwilling, go. My question is: why kill? The mechs and femmes taken aren't exactly talkative when it comes to the police anyway. Almost all of them are lower class workers like our poor victim on the table."

"Sadism?" Sentenza hazarded.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But I think we need to head to the Academy and have a word with our suspect. Mourncall, give us a holler over our comm's once you found out who she is, will you?"

The ME assured Counterforce that he would do so. "Just be careful," he added. "Don't let him know he's a suspect. If he does, he might run – or worse, hurt someone."

Sentenza's Predacon yellow optics flicked in his direction, flashing. The Crystal City mech was alarmed at the aggressive anger in them, and faintly disturbed to see them darken to an orange color.

"If Vertebreak's our killer, Mourncall, he's already hurt and killed a lot of innocent 'bots."

She stalked out of the room, her Praxian partner close at her heel struts.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Bit of a shorter chapter than last time, but I think it's best to end it here.**

 ***Note 1: I know in the canon series Vertebreak's just a 'Con surgeon who's obviously on the insane side and broken the law more than once. But I don't think being put on the Alchemor just for stealing parts is quite...feasible.** **The Alchemor is supposed to hold "some of the most dangerous Decepticon criminal on record." In that regard, how is Vertebreak dangerous other than being insane and smart? Sure, his actions were illegal, but he's nowhere near the level of bad of Steeljaw, Thunderhoof, or Underbite.**

 **I decided to fill in the blanks with my personal head-canon.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

Part 4: The Curious Case of the Psychotic Surgeon

* * *

* _It's my personal head-canon that Predacon tribes can be identified by particular paint patterns they wear. They're sort of like tribal tattoos or house crests. Each one is different and unique to that particular tribe, and each one is further unique to the individual. For example, the Blue Moon tribe's is a pale blue crescent moon they painted on their shoulders resembling a pouncing coyote. An individual may have clouds covering it, signifying stealthiness, while another may have intertwined lines showing they are well-connected, i.e have many friends._

 _Another example: Zodiac's Avioid tribe, which I have dubbed the Sky Painters, uses a marking that consists of a paintbrush "painting" a stream of stars, but she doesn't use it physically because she can just mimic it via her diodes. The Sky Painter's leader is the most elaborate – the stream goes from the upper shoulder or neck and spirals down the arms to form a bracelet around the wrist and further consists of flowing, wispy clouds weaving between, around, across, and behind the stars. I'll touch more on this in my other mini-series and in the main story itself._

 _Predaking's is the only tribe that uses the Predacon crest in my mind, since they are the originals._

 _Also, in my mind Counterforce sounds like a young version of Balto, voiced by Kevin Bacon. I just re-watched that film and I think that kind of a voice suits him. It's actually a tie between him and a young Bryan Adams. Sentenza sounds a lot like Mockingbird from Avengers: EMH._

 _Note: Star Seekers are pirates. They are canon. Go wiki them._

* * *

CRYSTAL CITY ACADEMY OF SCIENCE  
BIO-MECH WING  
1100 Hours

The Academy of Science had footholds in every city on Cybertron, but Sentenza had rarely visited any of them. She'd been to the one in Kaon a half dozen times to chat with some of the forensics majors and that was about it. She'd never visited the main campus complex. She had been to Crystal City once before and had seen the gigantic building once before when flying, but that trip had solely been to set up a contact network with some of the 'bots in the city. That had been so long ago, too. How long had it been since she'd visited here – fifteen groons? Twenty? Would any of those contacts even remember her after all this time? She'd given them the occasional courtesy call to see how they were doing, what they were up to, but...she hadn't heard from them in some time. More recently she had called in every so often to inquire about the Mad Doctor killings but that was about it. She hoped they did remember her and the deal she had with them, because now she was calling in all her cards here, pooling all her resources. She needed them desperately now. She needed them to band together and help her catch the murdering scourge that now plagued this generally peaceful city. If anyone could fill her in on the rumors and talk about the Academy and some of her students, her contacts could. Because one thing she'd learned from the Predacons over the decades, especially from the ones she'd worked with in Kaon – it was always easier to hunt if you knew your prey. Knowing the prey meant a quicker end to the hunt.

She jolted out her ruminations when the mech beside her asked, "Sentenza? What is it?"

"Hmm? Oh, uh. Nothing. Just..thinking."

"About what, if you don't mind my asking? You looked rather...severe just now."

The Seeker femme gave him an honest answer, repeating her thoughts almost word for word. Counterforce smiled at her. He was certain there was a reason for the silence, he said. She did work a long ways away, and she didn't know very many 'bots here. Perhaps they thought she too busy on the home front to look into this serial case, but he doubt ed they've forgotten you entirely. She was a unique personality. And, dare he admit it, likable.

She couldn't help smiling back at him, "Flatterer," she accused.

He answered back with his own broad, sunlight smile. The mech paused before continuing, "By the by, who _do_ you know here?"

"Split-spark twin Enerologists named Ampere and Diode – they have a kind of adorable habit of finishing each other's sentences, and then they get a little annoyed; there's a hapless young flier I nearly crashed into called Airlock – sweet little mech if a little on the clumsy side; an old retired spark surgeon named Pulse, and a big bugger of a Predacon who goes by the name of Farleap – pleasant guy. Does have a bit of a temper like all Predacons if you don't return the respect they give. He's the only one not in the city though. He lives out in the canyons with a small, misfit tribe of Predacons he's taken to calling the Lost Children. He has a sweet tendency to take in Foundlings. I think the Draconian we saw at the crime scene is one of his. She had the tribal markings."

Counterforce nodded. He remembered the unusual markings the Draconian had possessed on her body. Unlike most Predacon tribes, hers had been very simple. His observant optics had noticed the vibrant turquoise bands around her legs accented by small circles. Massive circles containing spirals of the same vibrant color had also been painted on her pale wing mesh. In flight, he suspected they were supposed to resemble a pair of optics or eyes watching those below. If she were in danger she could easily spread her out wings and display the circles to act like disorienting eye spots. Knowing some of the symbolism behind Predacon tribal marks, perhaps that meant the Draconian was a scout, a lookout, or unusually keen of sight. But there was a grander meaning to it as well: there was always someone looking out for you. That was probably the message the Draconian was trying to convey.

"What type is he? Draconian? Chimeran? Maybe a Leonoid?"

She smirked, red optics twinkling as she told him: "Nope. He's a Hindian if you can believe it. Alt. mode of a terrestrial elk."

Counterforce laughed then – the first time she'd heard him do so. It was a wonderful sound filled with light and mirth that made her spark soar. Again she wondered how in the world this mech was still single. He had all the traits femmes went wild for. And yet there he was – single as an uncoupled hydrogen atom. Was he just not interested? Or was he searching for someone in particular? Was he too absorbed in his work or too busy to search? He certainly seemed to like her, but she didn't know how deep that went. It was hard to tell if he had a thing going for her since he was so naturally friendly and kind. But if he did...if he did, why did he not come out and say so? Was he too shy to? Or was something else stopping him? Because _she_ certainly liked him. She couldn't deny he was attractive and intelligent, and their conversation that morning cemented that he wasn't scared of her or her other half. He wasn't scared or intimidated; he'd felt bad for her, wanted to help her. He'd been willing to cover for her in order to keep her out of jail. It was that trait, not his light manipulation, that struck her as utterly astounding. Here he was, a cop of planet-wide renown, celebrated for his many successes, helping to hide a wanted vigilante killer from his own employers. That...no. He was kind, yes, but there had to be something there for him to behave like that. As a cop it was his task in life to arrest people like her. _Did_ he care for her? _Had_ her spark really reacted the other day out of love, had it truly resonated with his own, or had it been some fluke communion with Primus, telling her to not run from him – that she could trust him?

Pfft. Yeah right. What did _he_ care about her? He was the reason she was like this!

"Please tell me you're joking!" he said.

She smiled: "Nope. I am being dead serious."

They kept walking down the high, vaulted halls, each of them smiling and laughing. Lightly he asked her who she wanted to see first after the interview if they needed more data. She replied back that it didn't matter. Each of them was fairly well informed about the goings on in the city, but if anyone knew more about Vertebreak then they should try Diode and Ampere or perhaps Pulse. That guy had been around since the War, and in point of fact had worked on a Neutral colony until he and the Neutrals he tended had gathered their things and headed home once the War had ended. He'd probably known Vertebreak since he was just a sparkling.

"Alright then. I assume you know where to find him?"

Sentenza nodded. But before she could give him his address (which may or may not be valid; he may have moved) they reached a research lab and office with a placard near the door that said it belonged to Vertebreak.

Counterforce activated the voice receiver beside the sealed door and spoke into it:

"Vertebreak? Detectives Counterforce and Sentenza. We'd like to have a word with you. Could we come in please?"

Silence on the other end.

"Do you think he's not here maybe?" she hazarded.

The Praxian frowned. Had Vertebreak known they were coming and fled to avoid questioning? Criminals fled whenever they felt threatened or had something to hide. That Vertebreak seemed to have done so gave him a bad feeling. Right before he was about to call Aegis and inform him of the missing suspect, the door hissed open and revealed a bronze-colored Serpentine in the doorway looming over them. To Sentenza's surprise he bowed.

"Sincerest apologies, officers. I was in the middle of conducting some minor experiments – perfectly legal ones, I assure you," said Vertebreak in a strange, rather high-pitched voice. "Ah, do come in. I assume you have questions for me?" He subjected each of them to a piercing yellow stare.

Counterforce thanked him for the hospitality and walked in. Sentenza hesitated for a moment on the threshold, feeling as though a grave chill had swept past her. The lab within looked clean and professional if perhaps a little on the untidy side. Her sharp optics caught glimpses of his writing, the nearly illegible scribbles making the femme cringe internally. That wasn't what bothered her though. Something about Vertebreak himself had set off her internal warning bells, and yet Counterforce hadn't seem to have reacted in the same way. He looked quite calm as he stood near a lab table, waiting to begin his interrogation. Had he not recieved the same warning? Or had he, and was he playing the part of the humble, helpful, but slightly dense police officer of terrestrial fiction? Considering his notoriety, would that even work?

"Sentenza? Are you coming?" asked Counterforce.

She nearly jumped. Like a wary feline she stepped over the threshold.

"It's alright, detective," Vertebreak grinned. "Nothing in here is harmful. Just a humble Academy lab where I study the complexities of the body, that's all. Fascinating stuff I might add."

The Seeker femme paused as she passed another lab table. Unlike the empty one where Counterforce and Vertebreak now stood around, this one had a series of surgical equipment, examination tools, and a strange device she had never laid optics on before. She leaned in to get a better look at it. An odd object for sure, and judging by how ludicrously complicated it looked she suspected it was some kind of bio-mechanism. What kind though? It certainly didn't look like a T-Cog or any basic mechanism she was familiar with. Her curiosity spiked further when she detected a field of tachyons surrounding it. This...? No. It couldn't be!

"Your first time seeing a warp drive I suppose?" asked the Serpentine with a glitter in his yellow optics.

She stared at the device. Then sharply she asked: "Where did you get it?"

"That's quite simple really. The user, Broadcast, was having some unusual glitches with it – such as her teleporting inside the walls of a building – and so I offered to take a look and, Primus willing, repair it for her. Warp drives can occasionally be a bit finicky, you know. Better to fix it now before it starts causing even more problems. I don't think either of you know that if a warp drive becomes unstable, the user has an unfortunate tendency to, ah...disappear altogether, sometimes in a messy manner."

"It's my experience that most Decepticons aren't so willing to help random individuals,"

She didn't mean to sound snappy and condescending but it came out that way.

The surgeon drew himself up, affronted: "Just because I'm affiliated politically doesn't mean I agree with every one of their values. And just because I'm not affiliated with the Autobot faction doesn't mean I can't agree with some of theirs. I'm a scientist, Seeker – I can't allow myself to be wholly biased for one idea or another. The pursuit of knowledge knows no factions I always say."

Sentenza eyed him but could detect nothing to indicate he was being insincere. But still...something about him set her on edge. Something in his optics and the way he spoke. He was far too calm. Decepticons as a rule tended to be uncomfortable around Autobot law officers, reluctant to share and converse due to lingering tensions that dated back to the War. While she believed him about his political affiliations, that was the only thing trustworthy she had heard thus far.

"Now, I can only assume since you're both here that you must be working on the Mad Doctor case?" Vertebreak asked, coiling his tail and resting his upper two sets of arms on the table he was at, "I'll be happy to answer any questions you might have. And – if I'm not nosing into official business – perhaps if you shared some of the data from the post-mortem, I might be able to identify something of use to help you catch the one responsible. Not that I doubt the ME, but there's a chance he may have missed or overlooked something."

To her relief, Counterforce shook his helm. Good. He wasn't trusting him fully, either. She had been afraid he'd go along and compromise the mission. Sharing classified police data was against protocol anyway.

"Even if I did so, Mourncall is a talented physician. He's been at his career for even longer than you have. He's not likely to have missed anything."

Vertebreak shrugged. "Hm. Suit yourself, then. I won't pry. But back to the main subject. Questions for me?"

"Yes."

And thus, the interrogation began.

* * *

Counterforce concluded his questioning within the half joor, leaving Vertebreak to return to his repairs of the warp drive. Frankly, he wasn't as satisfied as he had made Vertebreak believe. Something about the interview – some of the things the surgeon had said hadn't rung quite true. And the information they'd gathered wasn't very helpful either way. He hadn't gotten as much as he had hoped. Vertebreak had seemed to be able to resist his gentle persuasiveness to a surprising degree and had begun lightly resisting the instant he'd felt the effects – not enough to convince him of guilt but enough to make him wonder: why? If he had nothing to hide, why resist him at all?

His alibi was incredibly solid for around the time of the latest murder – he'd been in the Astrophysics wing looking into the nature of tachyons. This having been his first time working with a warp drive, a malfunctioning one at that, he had wanted to brush up on the super-luminal particles to avoid any potential mishaps. As he'd said, tachyons were flighty little things that were naturally unstable. Agitate them enough and the warp drive could've teleported itself off the table and wound up half-way across the city. When asked about his mental state he'd seemed annoyed. Everyone had a mild mental problem to some degree he had argued. No processor was perfect. He was pretty sure the Academy was harping on him just because he was a Decepticon. Yes, he'd skirted ethics every now and again – science knew no bounds, and it was his opinion that science should not be restrained lest they fall back to the Rust Age – but that had been groons ago when he was much younger, more ignorant of the consequences. And besides, everyone here was guilty of it to some degree. It was just that many of the transgressions were so minor that they were overlooked: safety regulations being pushed to the side being the main one. What Vertebreak had said next though intrigued him: they'd been having trouble with one of the groundbridges in the Bio-Mech wing being activated remotely from time to time, but it was always so rapid (roughly ten kliks) that no one had ever managed to trace the remote activation signal. They'd even had a few of the mechs and femmes in Engineering have a go at it. They had found the signal did stem from this very wing, but no remote controller had been found. Some were inclined to believe the wing was haunted by a spark who just wanted a giggle every now again by confusing the scientists.

Counterforce knew better. While sparks occasionally manifesting outside the Allspark _did_ happen, and some _were_ guilty of such harmless pranks, he knew the information meant the killer worked in the Bio-Mech wing of the Academy. The killer had a remote means of hijacking a groundbridge for his personal use. But that left a question: where was the controller? You couldn't hijack a groundbridge without one. Obviously a search had never been instigated for it. And groundbridge remote controllers had to be registered much like weapons, as that gave a mech or femme access to virtually every groundbridge on Cybertron with the right personal modifications – if made more complex, even the spacebridges. Both were heavily regulated in their use by the Council, the spacebridges especially.

So perhaps now was the time to ask Carbine for a search warrant. If they found the controller...they found the killer. But...surely it couldn't be that simple? In his experience, if something was simple it was either made so on purpose or the perpetrator was simply dumb as a post. Vertebreak did not fit the latter. But if he _was_ the Mad Doctor – why share the information about the mysteriously activating groundbridges with them? That was _significant_ information they could put to use. Did he just not think they were clever enough to make use of it? Perhaps. So what did that leave him with?

"He might just hold cops in disdain since they follow the rules all the time. You heard him earlier. He doesn't really like rules," Sentenza offered thoughtfully as they made their way out. "Maybe he's even leading us in the wrong direction. 'Red herrings' is what the humans call false leads. No idea why. Think that's what he might be doing here? I've dealt with crooks giving me false leads before, but...call me crazy, I don't think he was lying about the 'bridges."

It took him an astrosecond to realize he'd been musing aloud. He paused.

At his side, Sentenza smiled: "Oh, I'm sorry, nightlight. Did I interrupt you? Please, go on. You're cute when think out loud."

He smiled. "Am I? I didn't think you liked me enough to admit that. Goody-two-trods cop was the look I saw on your faceplates the other solar cycle."

The Praxian saw her wince a little. "Sorry about that. And the, um, insinuating flirts. And everything else that happened afterwards. I just..." she trailed off, sighing.

He put a hand on her arm.

"I get it. You don't want to give anyone any reason to suspect you're anything more than a private detective. So, you put on a mask – a very delightful, entertaining mask I'll say – but you don't need to treat it like that. _You_ are not a mask for Her. _You_ are _you_. She is someone else entirely. And you definitely don't need to use that mask around me. Not anymore anyway. Just be yourself; I get the feeling that mask is just a tiny fractal of who you are. I'd like to see the whole, larger image at some point. If you'll ever let me."

Her smile broadened to a near grin. "Was that a pick-up line, Goldie? You, trying to pick me up on the job? And here I thought I was shameless."

Counterforce laughed.

She elbowed him playfully. "Come on, lover bot. Let's go pay Carbine a visit and update him before you start spoutin' off poetry to me."

"Are you implying I'm a bad poet, detective? Would you like me to recite a few verses and prove you wrong?"

For the first time in what felt like forever, she laughed – laughed with her whole spark. A genuine laugh of pure enjoyment. She grabbed one hand in hers and dragged him forward, nearly making him lose his footing.

"Come on."

* * *

Carbine paced to a fro in his office as he listened to the young Praxian's report. What he was saying was curious to no end.

"Groundbridges being remotely activated by an unknown perpetrator? That's the first I've heard of this. It's unlike the Academy to not report something like that. Did Vertebreak say how long this has been going on, lad?"

Counterforce shook his helm. No. Vertebreak had not mentioned how for long these remote hijackings had been occurring. He suspected personally that they had been happening ever since the third death. If his memory served that was the murder where a poor vagrant had been found in an old collapsed tunnel just outside the city, one that had been collapsed since the War. There was no way in other than teleportation, phasing, or – groundbridging in. As such, the body had been found by a natural phaser and historian named Specter-Seven who had been scouting the old tunnels.

"The previous two deaths had been accessible to some degree, which is how we gathered as much information as we did and so quickly. But from the third onwards they had been hidden away in very hard to reach places."

Carbine paused in his pacing to murmur: "Hm. Yes. That sounds about right. But why the Pit did he change his tactics suddenly? What changed?"

Sentenza gave him an expressively clueless gesture. "Your guess is probably as good as ours, Carbine."

"Perhaps," mused Counterforce, "the killer began to play on probability to keep his deeds concealed. Mechs and femmes with the necessary talents to circumvent such hard-to-reach locations are few and far between. Someone without those talents would never be able to get in and they are far more common. But teleporters? Phasers? They're incredibly rare. I think the statistics for teleporters is something like one out of every four or five hundred thousand. Phasers are even rarer. What are the chances the murder was discovered by a phaser who so happened to be a historian? So slim as to be almost negligible. Specter-Seven had klicks upon klicks of those old war tunnels to choose from, and that historian just so happened to phase into the portion where the body was hidden."

Sentenza stared at him. "You're not suggesting...this is _his_ doing? That _he's_ trying to help bring the killer to justice?"

The Praxian turned a serious gaze on her, "I don't believe in coincidence, detective. Things happen for a reason in life. That discovery was so coincidental that I am ready to swear it was orchestrated by an outside hand. And you know as well as I do that he despises pointless death and violence. If he can save lives by helping us find the killer, he'll do it in a sparkbeat."

Carbine let out a growl, pounding a balled hand against his desk.

"But blast it all! If he wants to help, why doesn't he just snuff the killer and be done with it?! Why not do that to begin with? He has the power! Save us a lot of trouble and innocent lives in the bargain! He could've stopped this right at the start!"

Something in the Praxian's voice changed when he answered back, and his sole golden optic seemed to flare brighter for a brief fraction of an astrosecond, "Because if he did so he would be no better than the killer, Carbine. One tragedy doesn't mend another. One life ended will not bring back the ones that have been lost."

Carbine seemed to struck by his words. The bluster and anger in his voice dissipated. His whole frame sagged.

"Then...what do you want to do about this?"

Counterforce explained that their first order of business was to report to him about their findings. Since they now knew about the hijacked groundbridges they were here to request a search warrant for the Academy's various wings. Just because he suspected the killer to work in the Bio-Mech wing didn't mean the remote controller was hidden there. That would be far too easy, and the killer had more smarts than that. The warrant would extend to the whole complex. It would be a long search, but Sentenza had a few leads that might be able to narrow it down a little: an old spark-surgeon named Pulse and a Predacon named Farleap who might be willing to lend them a tracker or two.

"Farleap, you say? Hm! You didn't strike me as the type to consort with Predacons, detective."

Sentenza seemed a bit righteously indignant at that. "Just because they look like beasts doesn't mean they can't be civil. And you know how useful they can be. You hired one of Farleap's Lost Children to help canvas the scene. I recognized her markings. Clouddancer I believe her name is."

The Praxian permitted himself a startled sideways glance at her. He had no idea Sentenza was so protective of Predacons.

"And if you don't find the controller?" Carbine continued, wisely dropping the subject.

"Then we resort to Beta Plan. If Vertebreak's the killer, we'll send Sentenza inside his lab, cloaked, and have her hack every console in there. That's a fallacy with scientific types: they're very meticulous about note-taking, even about stuff that's 'off the books' as the humans say. There's bound to be something on those consoles about these deaths if he's guilty. But knowing Vertebreak...he's probably smarter than that. Might have a hidden terminal or data pad or some means of keeping private notes in there that she'll have to find."

Carbine grunted, nodding: "Very well, then. Search warrant granted. Now get to work. Go get some more info on this guy and some help for the search, but I want this scraplet in cuffs and chains. Sooner we catch him the sooner innocent 'bots stop turnin' up dead."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

 _Rat-tat_. _Rat-tat._

The door ahead of the two partners hissed open. Standing on the threshold was a medium-height, rather stocky red mech whose sharp facial build giving him a severe countenance more befitting of a judge. But his blue optics sparkled in surprise and delight on spotting the black Seeker standing at the forefront, a sly smile breaking out when he noticed her companion.

"Well, well. What have we here? That's quite the dashing boyfriend ya have there, lass. How long did it take te twirl 'im 'round your little digit, eh?" the mech wondered playfully in a grating, informal voice that sounded more like it belonged to a Star Seeker.

Sentenza smiled. She'd forgotten how much coarse fun the old surgeon could be. His intelligence and somewhat suggestive sense of humor had been why she had let him into her expansive network of contacts. Next to Farleap, he was a personal favorite of hers. He was one of the few who treated her as an ally instead of a manager. She was honestly rather surprised that Pulse didn't seem to bear a grudge over her lack of communication with him. But she supposed that due to his retirement and her busy work life he understood that casual chats weren't going to be common.

"Only a solar cycle give or take. Poor devil didn't even try to resist," she replied impishly, "But he's not my date, old mech. He's my partner. This is Counterforce. I'm working a case with him. That's why we're here. We were hoping you could offer some insight on a suspect before we go searching the Academy for evidence."

"Alright. Come on in and I'll see if I can help ya out. No promises though. I'm retired, so I'm not quite as connected as I used te be."

Pulse led them into a small but comfortable lounge area lit by cheerful wall sconces. He motioned for them to sit; only Counterforce complied. Sentenza appeared more than happy to stand, and the old spark-surgeon noted humorously she stood very close to him, one hand laying on the back of the seat. Oh, there was something there all right, much as the Seeker denied it. But it was good to see her open up to someone as a friend instead of a businessfemme. She needed someone, a shoulder to lean on. Perhaps she'd finally found that shoulder – and she couldn't have picked a handsomer one.

"Now, who is it ya wanted te ask me about?"

Counterforce filled him in.

"Hm. Vertebreak ya say? Heard o' the lad. Pleasant te talk with if a bit – erm – off. Cyber-grafting student who's making a name for himself – good and bad ways. I'm not in the loop when it comes te bio-mechanics but I remember there bein' some sorta hullabaloo a long time ago after it was found out he performed an operation off the charts. On an Autobot if I recall rightly. Worker who wanted a faulty part replaced. Got the part replaced, but...well, somethin' 'bout it changed the mech. Whenever a friend asked him about it, he'd become flighty an' avoid the question. Ya...ya don't think...?" Pulse trailed off.

The Praxian nodded.

"We have reason to believe that the new parts these 'bots have come from the dead bodies created by the Mad Doctor. We don't know what constitutes the killing exactly, but we think it might be because the 'donor' is unwilling and he doesn't want them talking. All of them have been low class workers whom society tends to overlook to begin with. Janitors, sanitation workers, petty drug smugglers, and so on. One of them goes missing – well, no one's really going to bat an optic. Not until we find the body anyway. Then of course everyone flips their lids."

"I can imagine. Been keepin' up with case myself – or what little the cops allow into the news and media. Hope ya find the demented scraplet soon. Ya ask me these killings have goin' on long enough. I'm just sorry I wasn't more help te ya. But I've heard o' ya, lad, and the good work you do. If anyone can bring this loon to justice I'm betting you and Sen'za can."

They rose. Counterforce held his hand out to the old spark-surgeon who shook it.

"Well, thank you regardless, Pulse. It was a pleasure to meet one of her old friends. We're off to meet another of her contacts who might help us in the search of the premises."

Pulse grinned. "Farleap, aye?"

Smiling and affirming, the pair left him. Pulse watched them go, smiling in a rather sad way. The whole time during the short interview he had noticed the way Counterforce's field had been gently flaring at the Seeker's own, and he'd noticed the way she had looked at him once or twice when she'd though neither of them was looking. Sen'za deserved someone to be her shoulder to lean on, to help her when it really counted; no Seeker deserved to be so devoid of real friends. Bar a select few, her contacts were more like business partners than real friends – even he was a business partner in the grand scheme of things, closer than most but still not a real friend.

It was just a shame that a murder spree had to be involved in order for her to find her first real friend at last.

* * *

The canyons beyond Crystal City wove and bent like a jagged river system, reaching a thousand feet down into the planet's surface. Gears, cogs, and huge pipelines could been observed on the sides of the canyon walls, and Energon streamed down its sides in a series of falls. Pools dotted the ledges. In reality, they weren't even canyons, but a massive space in between the living planet's armor plating. So it was fitting in an odd way that Farleap and his Lost Children inhabited the feature. Not only did it expose them to the planet's inner workings and provide access to some of the purest Energon in the world, but it allowed for brief bouts of communication between the blade-horn and his forger.

Farleap was intent on teaching the Foundlings of their origins and setting up good relations between the living planet and them. The entity was also persistent in relaying to him visions of where to locate other wandering orphans, some who were lost, sick, injured, or even near death for one reason or another. And sadly he didn't always get there in time. Sometimes the scraplets and the acid storms were faster. But he tried. That was what counted.

Standing atop a large piece of jutting metal, blue optics ever on the lookout, stood a large, muscular elk made of glittering bronze metal, branching silver horns catching the rays of Cybertron's host star and scattering it into a sprinkling of light on the ground before him. Encircling his legs were bright turquoise bands above and below which were filled triangles of the same color. His antlers possessed the same bands, though they lacked the triangles of his limbs. One optic was surrounded by an artistic hexagonal shape. The Hindian's sharp optics caught a flash of gold and silver close to the ground. Above, he saw the air shimmer like a mirage, and the deep black form of a Seeker appeared as if by magic. Farleap knew that color scheme. Stamping one hoof on the ground, he threw his helm back and called out in her direction. A horn from the golden and silver target blared over the landscape, while the black Seeker shot ahead in a scream of its engine, both sounds drawing two of Farleap's charges to his side out of curiosity.

"Who are they, Guardian?" asked a young copper-colored Equinine with an optic band, his audials swiveling rapidly as he tried to guess their approach vector. He had been sparked blind for reasons unknown, the band concealing his unnaturally pale yellow optics. It allowed him to see, but only at very short distances.

"The Black Bird appears to have brought a friend." Farleap snorted, stamping his hoof down and calling yet again as a signal for the flier to continue approach.

Another Foundling, a young Panthron femme without claws, gasped in delight: "Sentenza's back?!"

They watched as the black Seeker screamed to a partial stop mid-air, transformed in a flourish and dropped down. Squealing to a stop behind her was her strange resplendent friend, whose own transformation revealed a handsome young Praxian with the most unusual optics either Foundling had ever seen, both staring at him as if transfixed. He faltered a bit shyly under their gazes, but soon enough a smile broke out. Farleap transformed himself to greet her in her own manner, pressing his palms against hers before accepting a polite half-bow from the Praxian. The sparklings beside him shrieked in delight and pounced the Seeker, knocking her to the ground and bombarding her with questions, updates, personal accomplishments and anything in-between. The Panthron bounced around on her chestplates, unable to hurt her.

"Yeah, it's good to see you little buggers, too! You guys are so much bigger than when I saw you last!" Sentenza grinned, scratching them in turn behind their audials, thus earning more bouncing and giggles. "Now, get offa me so I can talk to your Guardian! Wish I were here just to play, but I'm on business. Tryin' to catch the Mad Doctor!"

The two Foundling's optics went round, letting out stunned little noises from their mouths.

* _Clouddancer told us about him_!* the Equinine said over short-band radio. * _She got picked to help the cops this morning! But she didn't find anything, though_. _Sucks. She was hopin' to find him and give the guy a good whack across his sick face! Wa-pow!_ * He reared back, kicking the air with his front hooves.

Sentenza lightly shoved the rambunctious young Predacons off her. Counterforce explained to them as simply as possible the reason for their visit, kneeling down to address them:

"Well, that's why we're here. We got a lead from Vertebreak about mysterious groundbridge hijackings, and that means somebody's controlling it via remote signal. So we need your Guardian and his best trackers to help us find the remote being used. Think you little ones or your older siblings could help us poor, scent-blind 'Bots out? We need a few; we'll be searching the entire Academy of Science, but one for each wing should be enough. How about it?"

* _Oh! Guardian, can I go? Please, please, pleeeaase?_ * begged the Panthron. * _I'm a good tracker! I am, I am, I am!_ *

Farleap considered. At last he conceded.

"Go gather some of your siblings, Softpaw. Trackers only. You can go with them so long as you stay out of trouble. It would be a good test of your abilities."

The appropriately named Softpaw squealed in delight and rushed off, her Equinine brother galloping behind her. Within only a breem or so she returned with the Draconian they had seen at the crime scene, Clouddancer, and a slew of her siblings: three Canipids colored black, silver, and tawny gold respectively, a young Leonid whose mane was just beginning to flare out, and two sleek spotted Felioids, one slightly heavier built than the other. Surprisingly, a Najoid, a type referred to by researchers as a Death Charmer, completed the party, its decorative, translucent hood ablaze with sunlight. Softpaw stood at the side of her Draconian sister, helm held proudly.

Counterforce nodded. Quite a varied group, all good trackers. He was rather curious to see the abilities of the Death Charmer; he hadn't thought that Najoids had a good sense of smell.

"Alright, then. Let's hunt. We got a serial killer to catch."

Transforming, the Praxian began leading the hunting party back towards the city in the near distance. A spotted golden blur shot past him kilks later, laughing as it outpaced them all in an instant.

* _I'll get started ahead of ya'll! I call dibs on Engineering wing! See you slowpokes later!_ * laughed the speedster feline.

Flying a few feet above the party, Clouddancer roared in her native language, " _Cheetor! Get your can back here_!"

Counterforce, interpreting her words through the annoyance in her optics, laughed: "It's fine, Clouddancer. A head start is a good start in my profession. If he can sweep the Academy for any scents that might be of use – preferably Vertebreak's, since he's our main suspect – that could save us a lot of time. With more innocent lives in the balance, time is something we _need_ on our side. Faster we get going, the more likely it is we save lives in the end."

The Draconian snorted but did not argue.

* * *

They found Cheetor waiting for them at the main northern entrance, tail swishing and chestplates heaving. He gave an Avioid-like chirping noise on noting their approach and reported via short-band as they drew up to him:

* _Swept Engineering wing. Came up with nada. No scents that didn't belong, and none of the 'bots there reported Vertebreak ever paying their wing a visit. But...I dunno. I just felt something was off when I went by one of the groundbridge arches. I asked what was so special about that one, but this isn't really big news – that's the one bein' hijacked 'parrently: G2. Other than I got_ _nothin'._ *

"Thank you, Cheetor. You're free to stay or leave. Your choice," Sentenza offered.

* _Eh, I'll stick around. Softpaw might need a helping claw. She's kinda new at this._ * The speedy Felioid pulled his little black-coated sister close. * _Plus, I don't want her wanderin' alone when there might be a serial killer in the building right now, 'specially when she don't got any claws. Call me paranoid, but I ain't about to lose her. Farleap'd have my helm on a pike._ *

"Yeah, I bet," the Seeker grinned gravely, "You can search the Space Sciences wing. Far enough away from Bio-Mech wing that you shouldn't run into any trouble, but there's just the slightest chance the killer might've stashed the controller there since it's so out of the way and unlikely."

Silently she thanked Counterforce for providing an outlay of the complex, and he responded with a silent smile. Knowing she'd never visited this particular branch, he'd given her the schematics during the journey to help keep her from getting lost once she was inside. Yet another instance that showed that he had a kind spark in him – he was always willing to reach out and help no matter the time of day or task at hand. He was the Good Samaritan of human lore; he helped not because he wanted a reward in return but because he enjoyed doing so. Modest, intelligent, _and_ selfless. He was the one mech she'd ever met who had ever seen her dark half as well, and he still wasn't afraid of her.

"Sentenza, you and I will take Bio-Mech wing. Everyone else, fan out. Radio in if you find something, no matter how minor or insignificant you might think it is. Let's go."

She followed him willingly as the Predacons darted in ahead of them to begin their hunt for scents and evidence.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Next chapter things get dark, suspenseful, and a shade dicey. Fair warning.**

 **Also, my head imagines Bushmaster's bipedal mode as somewhat resembling Rath from _Mummies: Alive!_ xD Just sayin'.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

Part 5: Hiding in Plain Sight

* * *

Counterforce went ahead of Sentenza only for the Seeker to sweep by him with an independent flash in her Predacon yellow optics. He was a little bewildered by her sudden shifts in mood and even more sudden shifts in temperament. There was no next to no warning when they might happen, and this one left him not only surprised but ever so slightly offended. He was just being courteous to her as befitted a Praxian of upright morals. He hadn't meant to imply she couldn't handle herself. He said so to her. The Seeker slowed her pace to match him stride for stride.

"Sorry. I didn't mean it," Sentenza said. "I just...I'm not used to interacting with...someone like you, I guess. I'm more used to blunt, coarse 'bots, I guess. I'm not big on social formality in case you didn't notice, and I don't like others thinking I can't handle myself. No offense."

He had to wonder on hearing that – was that reaction of hers some sort of ambient effect of the Nightdemon personality, something that rendered her emotionally volatile? She seemed genuinely apologetic to him, but that flash of defiance had seemed unique to the personalty he'd met in Kaon, not the dampened, frightened one he'd met in Praxus. Or was she just naturally capricious? Seekers by their very nature tended to be a bit flighty in their behavior. One moment she could be laughing and smiling, dragging him through the halls like an excited sparkling, the next – grim, harsh, and prone to outbursts of emotion. And not the good variety either.

"None taken. Perhaps I should've been a little _less_ conscientious for once," he admitted honestly. "I should know better than anyone now that you're a force to be reckoned with, and not just because of Her. I read some of your case files and – impressive to say the least. You've got quite the talent. I honestly can't believe Aegis or any other precinct didn't hire you sooner for this case."

The Praxian was pleased to see a genuine smile bloom, the Seeker femme admitting that Kaon tended to be a little possessive of her, and she was also possessive of her home city. She was well-known in the Kaon-Iacon region, but outside their confines and the contacts she had she wasn't as well known. She was Kaon's pet detective. If anyone had a problem – missing loved one, suspicion of foul play, abduction, murder, robbery, or anything in between, Kaonians and Iaconians alike would search her out and she would offer her services. While not as common, she did occasionally work for free if the problem seemed to relate to a case she'd been working on for some time now: catching Thunderhoof.

"I could assist if you want me to," offered the mech. "Aegis has a bit of vendetta against Thunderhoof after he found two of his officers were being bribed by him to tamper with evidence. Would've framed an innocent mech for murder if it had gone through. Aegis fired 'em on the spot, and he's been trying to go after him since. He hasn't gotten hardly anywhere thanks to all the other cases that keep him busy, not to mention Thunderhoof's sway with other precincts and his expansive chain of underlings. Maybe all he needs to put him in a cell where he belongs...is you."

She snorted, "If I can put that son of a rust bucket in prison I'll gladly work with the cops. And you know the end is coming when I say _that_. I try to avoid cops whenever I can."

He managed a laugh. "You're working with one right now in case you didn't notice! And you don't seem to mind me!"

She faltered awkwardly. Luckily she was saved clarification as they had reached the lab of Vertebreak once again. She rapped loudly on the metal door.

"Vertebreak? Detectives Sentenza and Counterforce. We have a warrant from Carbine to search the Academy for whoever's behind the 'bridge hijackings. That includes your lab. Open up!"

This time the door was opened more promptly. Vertebreak loomed over them, one brow ridge raised.

"Do you mean to say you think someone is actually behind this strange activity? But nothing has ever been found!"

"That's because whoever's behind it is smart," Counterforce argued firmly. "The hijackings are always incredibly brief, but the controls for the groundbridge are never tampered with. If this really were a playful spark, there would be residual energy traces on or near the controls. That means the one doing the tampering has a means of remotely activating it. We intend to search the Academy and find that means, and we've brought in Predacon trackers to help with that. May we come in and search?"

Was it just her imagination or did the Ophidian seem to jolt on that announcement? And was it just her imagination that the surgeon had hesitated for about an astrosecond before answering slowly and with noticeable reluctance:

"Of...course. Come in. I've nothing to hide."

She entered, Counterforce at her side, Vertebreak slithering behind them with a cool, calm, collected expression. Counterforce politely requested he stay by the door, and they thus began a search of the lab. Both worked calmly and efficiently, one taking one half of the lab, the other taking the other half, conversing with one another only through their private frequencies to keep Vertebreak out of the loop. As he was a prime suspect, they did not want him to become suspicious. But other than more examples of the Ophidian's illegible notes and a few hastily scribbled reminders to update Broadcast about her warp drive, they found nothing that might indicate he was a guilty serial killer. At least, not until they were nearly done. Sentenza managed to find a surgical instrument shoved towards the very back of a drawer. Nothing appeared to be wrong with it at first, but a quick flip through the electro-magnetic spectrum revealed incredibly faint traces of something that made her black mesh prickle: Energon.

And what was more, she was also detecting a sparse number of tachyons.

* _Counterforce. I got something. Get over here. Don't give away anything in your expression._ *

He came in a casual manner as if he'd simply elected to head over to her, subtly taking the instrument from her. When he detected the same readings it was all he could do to keep his faceplates devoid of expression. Energon energy traces and tachyons? Of course, removing a bio-mechanism might result in some Energon getting onto the instrument – that was only plausible – but the tachyons were another story. While no expert on particle physics, Vertebreak's story of "assisting someone with a faulty warp drive" in conjunction with this find was beginning to sound to him far too much like an alibi.

* _Sentenza, I'll get this to headquarters after checking in with our trackers. I need you to stay here and keep an optic on our suspect. Can you do that?_ *

* _You know I can._ *

* _Even with...Her? Sen'za_ _–_ _you don't mind if I call you that, do you?_ _–_ _the last thing we need right now is a Nightdemon death on top of everything else. From all I know about how the Demon's mind works, she may have already condemned Vertebreak as the killer._ *

* _She hasn't. The Demon isn't hasty; she doesn't judge on a whim, CF, and not without hard evidence._ _I'll manage. I'm indoors, there's light all around. She only comes out when it's dark. I thought I explained that,_ * Offense worked its way into her tone. Looked like he didn't trust as well as she thought he did.

* _Sorry. I didn't mean to imply that I couldn't trust you. I just...I'd rather you err on the side of caution, that's all. Your belief that the Demon wouldn't harm anyone after dark at that Praxus warehouse is what led to the deaths of those smugglers. We don't need any more deaths here. If the Nightdemon of Kaon were to be found here, it could cause more panic._ *

He finished and slipped the instrument into a subspace compartment. Thanking Vertebreak for his cooperation, he motioned for Sentenza to follow him while outlining a sneaky plan over her private frequency for getting back in: once they had passed out the doors and made to leave, and once they were sure Vertebreak had turned his backstrut to them, she would cloak and quickly slip back inside. At least, that was the plan anyway. Vertebreak made things more difficult, though whether or not it was intentional was up for debate.

Instead of turning his backstrut to them once they were a fair distance away, he watched them go until they had rounded a corner into another hallway. As soon as they had rounded that corner, their audials picked up the sounds of the door hissing shut. Sentenza let out a colorful curse.

"Slagging _fantastic_. _Now_ how am I supposed to keep an optic on him? I'm a detective, not a locksmith! And my ability is cloaking, not phasing or teleporting!"

"Calm down, Sen'za," Counterforce urged as gently but firmly as he could. "Vertebreak can't stay in there forever. He'll have to come out at some point to refuel and get cleaning solution for his instruments. He's a Decepticon surgeon who's a prime suspect in this case, yes – but he's not a recluse, and going by Mourncall's observation of the evolution of surgical style, he's certainly not a careless rookie either. That blade I have is clean aside from lingering energy and tachyons. Very carefully cleaned I might add. Could mean he's very conscious about his tools, or..."

Her irritation died down. Worded that way, there might be another opportunity for her to get in.

"So...wait around out here, cloaked, until he pops out to clean up and restock, then slip in?"

"Yes. Make sure he doesn't get up to anything. I'll keep you posted till then, because once you're in there I'd highly advise against communication with me. Vertebreak's a scientist, and a very cautious one if he's truly our Mad Doctor. He probably has a means of detecting outside communications. If you manage to get concrete proof or see him performing anything illegal, do _not_ wait for me or anyone else. Just arrest him. We have a warrant and he knows well enough he's a suspect. He can explain himself to the authorities."

She nodded. Returning the nod with a wry, thin little smile at her, the Praxian made his adieu from her side.

* * *

Sentenza waited. Waited and waited. She was very good at waiting.

Counterforce, as promised, kept her updated as to what he was doing and what was going on on his end of things. He'd made it to the lab and as of that moment Mourncall was running an analysis of the Energon on the tool she'd found. It would take a while unfortunately, but the tachyons on it Mourncall admitted had gotten him suspicious. They were very fresh – possibly from that morning. The little particles were so volatile that they didn't stick around for very long. They'd stuck around for longer than he'd expected honestly; something appeared to have stabilized them – maybe the Energon on the tool? He couldn't say for certain.

[You got a name for our vic, MC?] she asked over private frequency.

[Yes, actually. Petty thief by the name of Clip. Funny thing about her though – she's not from Crystal City. Not on our register of crooks. Why? Well, she apparently hails from Polyhex. So this is the first victim we have _not_ from Crystal City.]

[Weird. All vics before now have been from here. Did the Mad Doctor not know she wasn't from here? Was there...anything special she had that might warrant her being targeted?]

[Well, there's something a little odd about her electro-magnetic field dynamo. It seems to be able to stabilize those notoriously flighty little particles – tachyons. Heard about these kinds of 'bots. My fellow medics have taken to calling them 't-grounders' due to that special trait. They're actually pretty common, far more so than teleporters themselves. Point of fact, that's one of the parts taken. Targeting system in her processor is also missing. Didn't mention it earlier because I thought it was random at first, and the analysis did take a bit, but now it doesn't look like it's random. Point of fact, Clip's EFD is the first to be taken in this particular case, but one or two have been "taken" in the past by black market suppliers; recipients were never found.]

Sentenza hemmed. Odd.

[Anything from the trackers, CF?]

[Nothing so far, but they're keeping me posted via comm. links. Cheetor for once is taking things slow since he's teaching Softpaw. And the Academy is a big building with lots of places to search, not to mention these Academy labs are technically private, so our Preds are going to have to be a little delicate about their search. You, too. Some are rentals and currently empty, but some are occupied. Perfect places to hide incriminating evidence.]

Damn. She was hoping for something a little more promising. Least they had the tool though. Mourncall could run an analysis. The nightlight was right about the labs though. What better place to hide something than in an empty, unused lab, or even plant evidence in a used lab to point blame at someone else?

Her chronometer registered nearly ten breems going by before she heard the tell-tale hiss of Vertebreak's lab door opening.

The instant that noise hit her audials she activated her cloaker. She peered around the corner and watched the Serpentine slither off to do or retrieve something, and so she made her move, slinking down the hall as swiftly as she could without making too much noise. Luckily for her, Vertebreak either hadn't remembered to seal his lab door or Primus was deciding to be very nice to her today. The former was probably the case. If her triple homicide she committed in Praxus the other night was any proof, he could care less what happened to her – or what happened to her victims.

[Gotta go. Tell the Preds to keep looking for the controller just in case. Sentenza, out.]

Taking her chance, she slipped inside and took up a position in a far corner. Less than a breem later Vertebreak returned with a cube of Energon, and he set about once more with his studies, unaware he now had an observer.

* * *

"You think she'll be okay?" Mourncall asked.

Counterforce leaned against the walls of the ME's office as the tool he'd brought with him was analyzed by the ME and his slew of instruments, his expression thoughtful. He didn't respond right away, convincing the other mech that he was implicitly honest. Good trait in a cop. No wonder he was so well liked.

"I'm worried, I'll admit. Vertebreak's psych exam showed him as unstable. Tendency to behave erratically. But the reports on her don't sound exaggerated. She's more than capable of handling herself. She works solo most of the time anyway, so it's not like this is anything new to her. She's trying to get Thunderhoof behind bars, you know. Been trying to for some time now, apparently. And honestly, I think she might just manage it."

Mourncall let out an almost reverential whistle, abandoning his analysis briefly to stare at him. Now _that_ was certainly something.

"Thunderhoof? That demented scraplet's got almost every precinct on Cybertron after him by this point, and more than a few are in his subspace pocket. If they can't manage it, what makes you think she can – on her own no less?"

"Because she's stubborn as a Predacon _and_ determined. Sometimes to get the result you want you have to downscale your efforts. Thunderhoof knows all those precincts are after him. He can counteract them pretty easy because it's very simple to track their efforts and movements thanks to those bought off precincts and through media outlets. Sentenza though? She's not as much in the limelight as the official 'bots. She can sneak up on him or his operators without much forewarning. And she's not alone, remember? Her contact network is the envy of every police agency on the planet. The reports say the Council's tried numerous times to hire her officially as a Huntress or Enforcer and gain access to it, even tried to hire her contacts directly, but..."

He trailed off suggestively with a shrug.

The silver and red mech grinned as he resumed his work, a dry bark of a chuckle escaping his vocalizer. "She told 'em to frack off, huh?"

"That's my guess," Counterforce admitted dryly. "She's not much for the official spectrum I've noticed. Seems to hold them in contempt. Likes doing things her way with little restraint. Liberal interpreter of the law, I guess, that way. Likes not having a leash. Kaonians tend to be that way. Her contacts also tend to be very loyal. Saw that myself with Pulse and Farleap. They aren't as easily bought off as the Council likes to think."

"Doesn't seem to hold you in contempt, though, does she? Wonder why?" Mourncall observed rather slyly.

Counterforce fell into awkward silence. He didn't really want to confirm the mech's suspicion that the Seeker might just be attracted to him. Far too early to make that assumption, and Sentenza's shifts in mood did not make that an easy conclusion to arrive at anyway. He did admit to himself rather guiltily that she was very attractive, not just in build though. Her mind was what attracted him really, her personality, too – she was a puzzle, and he loved to solve puzzles. And besides, he really did want to help her. She _needed_ help.

* * *

Mourncall turned at the silence, noticed the mech unconsciously shuffle his right pede and avert his gaze away from him. His optics narrowed.

"There's something you're not telling me."

The Praxian glanced around the room in quick, efficient darts of his dual-hued optics. His plating, he noticed, tightened against his frame. One doorwing twitched.

"Mourncall, could you shut off surveillance in here? Lock the door as well."

He looked at the officer oddly but complied, hitting a key on a console while wirelessly sealing the door with a string of command from his processor. In response, Counterforce assumed a more erect posture and walked over to him, sitting down near him on a spare chair. His expression, Mourncall noted, was haggard and plainly haunted. His optics dimmed by a fraction.

"What I'm about to tell you is highly classified. You have to swear on the Allspark that what you're about to hear will not go beyond this lab. Do you swear it?"

He swore solemnly on the Allspark that he would not repeat anything outside his lab. What was said in here would stay in here. Only he, Primus, and the dead would know.

"Alright. You might want to brace yourself, then."

* * *

Watching.

That's what Vertebreak felt now in his lab. Someone or something was watching him – watching him _very_ closely. Very, _very_ closely. His metal hide prickled unpleasantly at that odd but identifiable sensation.

Of course, he'd always felt the Academy was doing that due to his Decepticon alignment, run as it was by Autobots, but these labs were personal. No hidden observational equipment per that. Once you were granted a lab to work in, it was yours to use as you saw fit within certain parameters and regulations that all institutions had. Surely that was absurd. No hidden cameras, no motion detectors, and no one was in here with him. Pit, no one had come in at any point. He'd have seen them. He was totally and completely alone in here.

So...why did he feel like someone was watching him then?

He kept on with his work in spite of it. But try as he might to ignore it like he usually did – as he knew it wasn't the case; he'd checked countless times over the stellar cycles – this sensation did not die away. At last he lay down his tools and abandoned the warp drive on the table, unable to ignore it any longer. Something wasn't quite right. He meant to find out. If the Academy really sided with the law and suspected him...could they have slipped something into the lab when he'd been gone at some point?

The Ophidian slowly slithered about the room, poisonous yellow optics jerking around the expanse of the lab. Methodically he searched one wall, one sector at a time, audials at their highest setting. Yet he could hear and see nothing. Ah, if only he had the courage to target a Predacon, perhaps he could have learnt firsthand what it was like to have their remarkably sensitive hearing. But Predacons were powerful - too powerful for him to go after – and a truly solitary beast was rare indeed. They lived in tight-knit social groups ranging from a few members, like some Canipids and Felioids, to clans of two or three hundred strong, like Avioids. He could have targeted one of Farleap's Lost Children of course, but that would be tempting luck a little _too_ much. He'd been pressing it more than usual lately.

His strange sensation remained though despite what his physical senses were telling him, thus furthering the search. And in point of fact it was getting stronger near the far western corner of the room...

* * *

Sentenza dared not even cycle air as the surgeon slithered her way with a perplexed expression. She hadn't thought he would get suspicious, at any rate not so quickly.

He couldn't possibly have heard her, had he? She'd been cycling air so softly that she figured only a Predacon could have heard the hisses. Had he gotten suspicious for another reason? Others sometimes described an odd sense that was indescribable but distinct whenever another's sight was focused on them. Some felt it others while others seemed oblivious to the sense. Was that the issue here: Vertebreak's perceptiveness? Did he suspect sheerly through instinct that there was something up?

' _Please don't notice me, please don't notice me, please don't notice me..._ ' prayed the cloaked Seeker. ' _And please, oh please, don't reach out..._ '

Vertebreak continued to stare quizzically at her hiding spot as if trying to solve a puzzle only his optics could see. His snake-like helm tilted to the side in the same manner of an inquisitive sparkling. For a very brief, fleeting moment he didn't look like a dangerous, possibly mad Decepticon surgeon. He looked more like a sparkling trying to figure out a problem. He reached out with one hand, making her tense and veer away from it. Luckily he missed her.

"Is someone here?" he asked, looking around.

Acting on a desperate impulse, Sentenza hacked into the lab's lighting system and forced them to flicker for a klik or two every so often. Vertebreak tensed, then relaxed. What the surgeon did next chilled her to her very spark: he flung his helm back and laughed. It was a high-pitched, unrestrained laugh that, while not obviously truly malicious, was definitely unhinged to her audials. There was almost a contempt in the laugh, too. Vertebreak's words provided insight as to what might be the cause of such an attitude:

"Haunting, are we? I'm rather surprised you haven't started this sooner. And come now – why haunt me? I freed you from your miserable little lives in the pursuit of further knowledge of the body, of our very existence. After all, if one knows the body, one might know the spark as well. It's not as if you could do anything about it in your current states anyway, can you? You're nothing more than little wisps of energy now, physically disconnected from the living plane. So either stop bothering me and leave or be quiet and observe. At the very least your generously donated parts went on to help others. So it's not as if you died without cause. I simply couldn't risk the chance of being given away. My whole career would've been ruined!"

She stopped flickering the lights in order to make his suspicion drop. The hidden Seeker femme played back the recording she'd taken of the little monologue, but did not drop her cloak to arrest him. Damning as that proclamation was, she needed more evidence. A recording could easily be faked. Solid evidence like a data pad or computer logs however...those weren't so easy to fake. And Counterforce had a point – scientists had an almost impulsive need to record their findings. Law officers were the same (even she was) – though she was a little more...selective in what she put down on record for obvious reasons.

So instead of dropping her cover and rushing over to the surgeon, cuffs in hand, she instead chose to stay where she was and keep up observation.

* * *

Sentenza admitted she was disappointed. The time ticked by and nothing of particular note happened. Vertebreak kept up with his work on the warp drive for some time even as her chronometer told of it being late afternoon now. Surely the Predacons had found something, but she wouldn't be able to check until she got out of here. Too risky.

But then something...interesting happened.

Eventually the surgeon finished with the mechanism and slithered off to grab something on one side of the lab. The Seeker watched as he pressed a hand to the wall, thus revealing a hidden access panel. Vertebreak typed in a numerical code and the panel flashed once in acceptance. Off to the right side of the panel, a masterfully concealed safe-like recess swung open. He reached in with one of his too many spindly arms and brought out a strange little three dimensional astroid shaped mechanical object that pulsed faintly with faded magenta light. A little drop of Energon clung to the device. She could only guess it was meant to keep the device working.

' _I've never seen anything like that before. And why doesn't the warp drive need an Energon drop?_ " she thought as her confusion rose. ' _Maybe it doesn't need it? I read a couple of medical reports that said specialized bio-mechs and t-cogs don't need a constant supply of fuel in order to keep working if they're removed for long periods. They go dormant if taken out properly but don't stop working once re-activated._ '

Her thoughts came to a screeching halt and did a turnabout back onto the topic at hand as she realized something.

 _'_ _Wait, wait. Hang on. Mourncall mentioned that Clip's EFD was missing, and she was killed early this morning; he mentioned hers was special. Called her a "t-grounder." Pretty common apparently, but hers was the first EFD ever taken. Can stabilize unsteady tachyons. And Vertebreak has a glitching warp drive on his table..._ '

She was convinced of his guilt now. Why else would he have an EFD? Certainly that's what the device he had was. A coincidence this pat was not possible in her mind. Her other half though wasn't so willing to jump in just yet. A little more proof was needed here. If there was a way to get that droplet of Energon off the device, or at least sample it, the precinct might be able to analyze it and find who it had belonged to. There was, of course, the slim chance it wasn't Clip's but a donated one or even one that required repair. Vertebreak did seem to stick to his word in that regard. An interesting twist if he really was the Mad Doctor – a serial killer with a good sense of business, even if his supply source was less than honest. The hidden Seeker kept watching. Vertebreak carefully used a slew of fine tools to carefully tease open a part of the warp drive. With even more care and a hand steady enough to rival a War sniper, the surgeon inserted the little astroid shaped device. The warp drive began to glow in response, and Vertebreak began to look ever so slightly nervous. She picked up a massive surge of tachyons, suspecting then she knew why he was so wary.

"Come on, come on..." she heard him whisper. Four of his spindly digits crossed.

Obviously he didn't know whether or not this would work, as this was his first time dealing with a malfunctioning warp drive. And warp drives were usually pretty stable. They didn't tend to malfunction very often, so not many articles had been written on the subject, not to mention Vertebreak had mentioned that if a warp drive failed spectacularly the poor user tended to simply disappear from reality in a "messy" way as the tachyons destabilized. 'Course, that could've been a thinly veiled alibi...but this was the first teleporter related murder on this case. Had he been honest, then? Mourncall had said that her targeting system was also missing. Was that perhaps for another client?

She watched with round yellow optics as the warp drive on the table began to glow a pale magenta-lavender color. Vertebreak let out another one of his mad sounding laughs, but this one didn't sound malicious at all. It sounded ecstatic, elated.

"Yes! Yes, it worked! Ha-ha!"

He quickly slithered over to the still-open safe on the wall and pulled out a data pad, quickly inputting information into it. Then he put a spindly hand to his audial receptors to open a communication pathway to someone.

"Broadcast? Your warp drive is functioning properly once more. Could you meet me at the Academy as soon as you are able?...No, yes. I understand you're quite busy as a student reporter...Well, we'll see about getting it installed tomorrow, then. I want to ensure no possible glitches from the repairs anyway, as well as ensure accuracy on the targeting systems. What time would work for you?...Alright. I will see you then."

' _Apparently not,_ ' Sentenza thought a bit ruefully. The surgeon would be replacing Broadcast's targeting systems as well with the one he had pillaged from Clip's body.

Vertebreak cut the line and set about cleaning up his lab as well as he permitted himself, carefully sticking the datapad inside, locking the safe, and then going over and powering down the warp drive on the worktable. Casting one last curious look about the room, he made his way to the doors and exited for the day, locking the door behind him from the outside. He didn't realize that locking it would not keep his hidden watcher in. All she had to do was unlock it from her side and make her way out.

She dropped her cloak as soon as she was sure he was out of sight and hearing range. She went over to the safe, fingered in the code, and watched as it swung open with a very soft click. The Seeker smiled a bit darkly at her success, reaching in to grab the data pad in her slender, claw-like digits.

"Right. Now, let's see what sins you've got written down here, mech..."

* * *

 _Meanwhile..._

CRYSTAL CITY 1ST PRECINCT  
MEDICAL EXAMINER'S LAB  
VIDEO/AUDIO FEED: UNAVAILABLE

"...Please tell me this is just some story you made up."

Counterforce looked at him squarely with his still dimmed optics, his once haggard expression now grave and saddened, ageing him. Mourncall stared back at him in disbelieving horror. The saga he had regaled him of had been a spark-wrenching tale of murder, grief, darkness, and, towards the end, comfort that the main character, Sentenza, had desperately needed. He did not turn to check the results of his analytical machines. They might as well have been non-existent. He simply knew through the distinct tones it had made that the traces of energy found on the tool would be a match to Clip's unique energy.

"Primus, you're not joking, are you?"

"No," Just the monosyllable.

More staring. He shook his helm. He couldn't believe it, but there it was: Carbine had a dangerous vigilante with a shattered psyche working for him, and only Counterforce knew.

"That poor Seeker...And she's never thought to seek help? Not even once?"

"Probably because a psychologist would tell her to drop her career entirely," the Praxian told him dryly. "Dangerous as she is, she has a good spark. She doesn't _want_ to hurt anyone. She wants to help. And in terms of treatment, they most likely wouldn't be able to tell her anything that she hasn't already tried or used. This problem – it's highly aggressive and difficult for her to control even when in daylight. She has to remain neutral or upbeat to prevent the neural pathways from opening, and you can imagine how hard that is for someone like her. But please, whatever you do, don't tell Carbine about this. Jail time would only make this problem a hundred times worse. Isolation or being surrounded by mechs and femmes she's help put away...it would...I think it might break her completely."

A knock came at the lab door, followed by the gruff, soldierly voice of Carbine as he snapped calmly:

" _Mourncall? Why the slag'd you shut off all surveillance in your lab? What's going on in there?_ "

He rose from his seat at the same time as he re-activated the lab's surveillance. He barley took a single step before Counterforce gripped his wrist in his, a desperate look in his bizarre heterochromatic optics.

"Please..." he pleaded.

"I won't. I swore on the Allspark the information would not leave this lab. I'm not about to tarnish a good detective's name and get her struck off the register because she has a psychiatric problem. That sort of thing's treatable."

Counterforce released him. Mourncall made his way over to the door, unlocking it wirelessly through a string of issued command code. The medium-height, stocky form of Carbine stood framed in the doorway, expression equally confused and mildly irritated.

"Sorry, sir. Our issued help here just wanted to talk to me about a few things on his mind, and I adhere to the rule of patient confidentiality. Is something wrong?"

"Status report. What've you and your friends gotten so far?"

Mourncall gave him the run down of what he knew so far. Sentenza had found a tool with residual traces of energy and tachyons in Vertebreak's lab. Energy trace was a match to Clip. The Seeker currently still there looking for evidence. Nothing from the Preds so far, but they were keeping them posted in spurts. He –

He was about to go on when there was a loud whoosh heard down the corridor. That sound was unmistakable to him as a scientists and medic: the rush of a speed-gifted. His suspicion was confirmed when a blur of spotted golden and black metal came within arm's reach of cannoning into Carbine, stopping at the last possible astrosecond. A black form gripped onto the Felioid figure's back. Something was clasped in the latter's tiny mouth.

* _Guys! Guys! We found something!_ _Check it_!* Cheetor gushed over short-band. * _Go on, kid. Show 'em what Bushmaster found through his epic tracking and hypnosis powers!_ *

The little sparkling Panthron on his back held up her helm to Carbine in the same way an Earth dog offered its owner a toy or prize. Carbine gingerly took the device and uttered an oath. He recognized this sort of device.

"The remote controller?"

* _Yep!_ * Cheetor confirmed with his usual energy, * _Bushy 'pparently found it tucked in a rented lab owned by another student when he swept through Bio-Mech wing. Through his awesome hypnosis power he found out the guy's some sorta unofficial understudy/work study to Vertebreak. Not on records as an understudy, but seems innocent enough though. Doesn't know about any illegal acts on the part of his upper. Just helps clean his tools and tidy the lab at the end of the solar cycle. 'Swhy nobody knows. Doesn't get paid to ask questions about him._ *

* _But there's somethin' funny 'bout the_ _thing,_ * Softpaw added in. * _Vertebreak's scent isn't on it. Cheetor and I both checked after Bushmaster found it and checked it the first time. Nuh-uh. Not Vertebreak's_ _–_ _the understudy's is._ *

The three mechs stared at them both.

"What?"

* * *

Sentenza's dark humor went to horror as she skimmed through the secret data pad. Her victorious little smile faded to be replaced by a frown. Hard to feel victorious when she was essentially looking at an obituary disguised thinly as a medic's log.

Contained within were dossiers and reports on the many surgeries he had performed unofficially. There were at least fifteen in total committed by the "Mad Doctor" and an additional six he had done before that persona had been granted. And the most recent one was the one, labeled as "pending" she had heard him talking about with Broadcast:

 _ **Designation** : Broadcast; femme  
 **Frame Design** : Bladed flier; helicopter alternative form  
 **Reason for Consultation** : Malfunctioning warp drive  
 **Solution (Possible)** : Need to acquire the electro-magnetic field dynamo of a so-called "t-grounder." Integrating it with the warp drive should steady the destabilizing tachyons. Will also need to acquire new long-distance targeting systems, as exam revealed Broadcasts's to be nearly spent from near constant use. Reading on tachyons required before surgery.  
 **Selected Donor** : Clip  
 **Occupation and Location** : Petty thief. Polyhex; presently Crystal City for unknown reasons  
 **Reason** : Files label her as known "t-grounder"  
 **Operation Status** : Pending  
_

 _"_ Damn you to the Pit, Vertebreak. Even I'm not this callous!" hissed the Seeker viciously. There was a scientific mindset and there was total apathy. She grieved over every criminal life she ended, because she knew that what she had done was wrong. Vertebreak? This was all just science to him.

Horrible as this information was, it was the final nail in Vertebreak's coffin. Not even the Demon could argue this, and certainly no court of law. She had a warrant, so all this was legal, even if the lab's were technically private and thus in a sense owned by the occupant, not the Academy. Storing the incriminating data pad in a subspace compartment on her hip and reactivating her cloaker, Sentenza dashed for the door, unlocked it in a fluid blur of hand motions, transformed, and screamed down the hall. She did not grab the warp drive off the table. If taking the data pad didn't get Vertebreak suspicious, taking the warp drive definitely would.

* * *

[...'force! Counterforce, do you read?!]

He nearly jumped at the shout in his audials. He had just finished arguing alongside Mourncall that there was a sensible reason for the understudy's scent to be on the device and not Vertebreak's: the surgeon was intelligent and probably knew ways to cleanse a scent from an object, and the understudy, per his task of tidying the lab and cleaning tools, had probably touched it far more recently than Vertebreak.

"Sentenza? You okay? You get anything?"

[Vertebreak's the killer. Found a hidden data pad with a slagging obituary on it. Bringin' it in. Preds find anything?]

He told her.

[Looks like you called it. Vertebreak probably counted on the Preds finding it and getting the link to the understudy before my finding of the data pad. Probably counted on the second item never being found. Didn't expect a cloaker to slip in. One piece of evidence in there I didn't grab 'cause I didn't want to raise suspicions or damage it. You finish the analysis on the tool?]

He told her.

[Nice. We got him, goldie. We freakin' got him.]

"I'd say we do," said Counterforce. "Hurry back and we'll look over what you found. I'll tell the Predacons to wrap up and rendezvous at the precinct."

The three mechs and two Predacons watched the Praxian lower his hand as he finished his conversation.

"We got him?" Carbine asked eagerly. "Sentenza got him?"

Counterforce confirmed, "We got him."

* * *

 **Mad Doctor case has been drawn to a close, guys. Hope you enjoyed.**

 **Now comes the tying up of loose ends and a more varied look into the partnership between Counterforce and Sentenza. These are usually going to be single chapters in length.**

 **And yes, I know this took place over the course of a day, but that's to be expected: Crystal City's police force is very tiny and they don't have a ton of resources. Throw Sentenza, one of the most (possibly _the_ most) well connected femme on the planet into the mix, and the intelligent, efficient Counterforce, results are bound to come by at such a speed. But that was kinda the point – to get them set up for the remaining one shots which take place over much longer time spans, because Thunderhoof is not quite so easy to catch...**


	6. Chapter 6

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

Part 6: Tying Up Loose Ends

* _We're just tying up loose ends here. Takes place during the course of the trial and a little afterwards. Sentenza returns home next chapter. :)_

 _*And before anyone gives me more flack about this: I take lore only from the cartoons. I do not read the comics nor the covenant nor the novel. Not once in either cartoon was it mentioned that Halogen died. I am allowed freedom in that regard._

* * *

It had been another hectic few rounds on both sides. Arguments, testimony, and evidence had flown from the accusing precinct's members, and from the defendant's own vocalizer and that of his legal defender. Swaying the reigning jury of judges involved in the trial, each heads of their respective Academy branches from Crystal City was not as easy a matter as she'd hoped. Scientists, unlike law officers, desired evidence from all concerned sides. But the precinct was managing such a feat in a slow, steady process to build up their respectability, thought the accused's defender was not making it easy through his knowledge of the law and of his namesake. Unlike Vertebreak, Loophole was able to endear himself to the crowd. Convincing Praxus's reigning High Councilor – that was another story. Three cycles in, and he wouldn't commit to either side, despite the evidence thus far tallied against Vertebreak. At the very least, another round was over and done with, and the accused wasn't walking free.

She stretched freely as she came down the steps that led up to the Praxian Hall of Justice, optics shuttered, purring happily at the sensation of the wind brushing over her wings once more. The fifteenth precinct members, Farleap's trackers, and the accused and his defender were all with her, Vertebreak himself cuffed as per regulation. But her stretch stopped abruptly on spotting the small mob of reporters at the base of the steps – the same mob that met them every cycle. Her lip-plates formed into a frown as a low growl emerged from her vocalizer when their obnoxious camera drones zeroed in on them, beeping, like the blood-thirsty little insects they were. Questions harangued her and everyone else in the usual manic, barely controlled flood. Most were directed at Vertebreak and his legal defender, both declining to comment, as did everyone else.

One reporter did not ask about the active trial. His camera drone buzzed in close to the Praxian officer at her side.

"Officer!" he addressed. "You haven't answered my questions! You're currently lodging Kaon's pet detective in your residence! Is she keeping you company?"

Counterforce's visor snapped down. He refused to say anything. She wasn't quite so passive. Her fist clenched at her side. This was the third time he'd asked him that impertinent question. Her growl grew louder. Enough was enough.

Infuriated, she stormed down the steps to the drone's user, ensuring she was right in his face and her optics were flared in a threat, wings hiked up into sharp angles and held out, her red lights illuminated. The clenched fist at her side uncurled and rose in a flash to meet the reporter's faceplates palm first, and with enough force to create a sound like a cannon shot. The impertinent reporter mech, Tabloid his name was, staggered back. When he recovered and smiled that impertinent smile of his, she detached the black bar at her hip, elongated it, and swung it sideways at the reporter's helm.

"Ask him that again, you _kvt knvvsz ztor!_ " she snapped. "I fracking dare you!"

Before she could swing a second time to drive the message home, someone grabbed the pole from behind.

"Easy there, detective," Aegis said. "We've all had a long cycle. No need to vent your impatience on the reporters."

The will to yank her weapon back nearly drowned out the mech's cautionary words. In the end, she lowered her weapon. It was probably best that Farleap and Clouddancer together were more than enough to get the reporters to scatter for safer venues. Once they were safely within the confines of the streets, Aegis's hiked up wings relaxed. He suggested that she pay a visit to Macadam's and get a drink. When she admitted that some _vkra'al_ sounded wonderful, Aegis turned a shocked expression. An appreciative whistle escaped from his neck vents. She had a stronger tank than he did.

"It's an...acquired taste," she smiled.

The taller Seeker mech nodded, gracing her with a small smile and a twitch of his wings.

He turned to Counterforce, whispering loud enough for her to overhear, "Try and keep her from going overboard, would you, son?" to which Counterforce answered that he'd do his best. Aegis clapped him on the back and bade them farewell.

* * *

"Was that really necessary, Sen?" he deadpanned.

The Macadam's was never crowded until late in the evening hours, and Zewoel was still halfway between its zenith and the horizon. Some cycles he preferred it busy, the low thrum of noise soothing to his audials. Other cycles he much preferred the quiet. This cycle was one of those. After the crowded tension of the court room, he was happy to be in a mostly empty, mostly quiet place.

"Oh, shut up you bloody boy-scout," Sentenza smirked, taking a sip of her ordered drink. "He had that coming! The nerve of that mech, implying I was sharing a berth with you!"

His lip-plates formed a thinly angled slash across his faceplates. The irony of the reporter's bluntness wasn't lot on him.

"Frustrating few cycles, huh?" Half-Pint guessed.

The Seeker at his side groaned and thunked her helm into the bar. He had no idea, she mumbled. There was a reason she left trials to precincts. Catching criminals was simpler than the legal processes that happened afterwards.

"Speakin' of catching baddies, hear the owner of a certain high grade storage facility's under watch now. Your doin', darlin'?" Half-Pint asked, winking.

The Seeker's helm lifted to reveal a suddenly haunted look in her optics. It lasted only a moment. Then it vanished. A smirk, forced in his opinion, formed on her dark pewter faceplates. She swirled the cube of fuel in her hand. She confirmed it was her doing. She'd decided to look into it before heading off to stay the night at Counterforce's place. Good thing she had – she'd found evidence of deaths in the warehouse, most likely the missing officers of the fifth, and they'd been offed for what she assumed as a stake-out of the joint. They'd been in the right, she said. Place had been a front for Thallium traders.

"Knew there was somethin' off about the joint. S'why I never took high grade from 'em after that little change in management."

"You know who was in charge of the guys? Or anyone involved with their search into those dead buyers? I'll drop by later today and tell 'em. I gotta check in with Aegis after this. We're having a bit of a, erm, _chat_ with the understudy to help him set up a defense. Poor kid's a mass of nerves after being put to the grill this cycle. Such a wreck he couldn't testify. Some on the jury think that's evidence of guilt."

Half-Pint provided them with a friend of his in the fifth: a patrol officer by name of Clocker. He was friends with one of the missing; he was an old mech, former War scout for the 'Cons who was a bit of an authority figure to the newbies. Nice enough mech. Bit of a screw loose in the processor department. Old coot thought himself still young and vibrant and so always pushed himself to his limits on the roads. Bit delusional upstairs but a decent spark.

She smiled. "Thanks, shorty. I'll make sure he and the precinct gets the info after our talk with the kid. They at least deserve to know what happened even if we'll never find the bodies."

"Sounds good to me. Clocker's busy on the streets right now, will be for quite a while still, so you might as well do somethin' in the meantime."

Rather than leave right away, they stayed a short while longer, cases abandoned and simply swapping stories.

* * *

FIFTEENTH PRECINCT, PRAXUS  
CONFERENCE CHAMBER #2

When she opened the door to the second of two conference rooms she was met by a host of familiar faces. She and the Praxian officer at her side each managed smiles.

Carbine was there beside Aegis looking much more upbeat than he had been during the investigation. So was Mourncall, doing his best to keep the understudy – a young mech, bookish looking, with a ground-based vehicle form matching a small hovercar – from panicking and worrying himself into stasis lock while also sharing medical details. Farleap and his trackers were there as well, even little Softpaw, each out of their beast forms for the time being. Cheetor seemed to be trying to keep the little Panthron entertained while the adults talked amongst themselves, playing a puzzle game with her that some thoughtful officer at the precinct had provided.

Farleap himself turned to greet them while the others continued their discussions. He bowed his helm.

"Black Bird. Sun Guard."

Counterforce was taken aback at this but smiled a little broader, bowing his own helm in return. When had he been granted a Predacon name? he wondered. He thought only honorary tribe members were granted Predacon designations.

Sentenza was pleased to see the Hindian smile at him as he replied, "Any friend of the Black Bird is counted among my ranks. Unfortunate that you met her under such distressing circumstances. And you have proven yourself a loyal friend to her. Your light guards her, protects her from the Dark she fights against. Thus: Sun Guard."

The Praxian massaged his neck cables awkwardly. "Well, ah, t-thank you, sir. I'm honored. Truly."

She couldn't help but smile at him fondly. He was cute when he was at a loss for words.

Sentenza smiled, elbowed him in the side playfully. She then took a seat beside Bushmaster who grinned at her. Counterforce took a seat on the other side of the nervous understudy, putting a hand on the mech's shoulder. Mourncall's tossed expression showed him grateful for the added help. He knew well enough the Praxian's reputation for soothing even the most agitated and anxious of eyewitnesses or snitches. 'Bots just couldn't help feeling safe around him.

"Hey," he said. "Remember me?"

The understudy glanced at him, fear still burning strongly in his optics and field.

"Uh, C-Counterbalance o-or something, r-right?"

"Counter _force_ ," he chuckled, smiling. "But close enough, I guess. A for effort."

He noticed his hands wringing. He took hold of one to stop it, holding it tightly. He could feel the poor mech's whole body trembling. The longer the trial went on, the more nervous he seemed to get. This was already the second solar cycle. And he knew why he was so nervous: like it or not, he was still associated with Vertebreak. He knew he was innocent, Sen'za knew – slag, the whole of two precincts and a Predacon tribe knew. But Vertebreak's attorney would be and currently was trying to pin some sort of blame on him as well. Maybe they couldn't get him locked up for being the murderer but they might get him locked up for being an accomplice, no matter how innocent.

"Hey, hey. Calm down. You're safe here. No one can get at you."

The understudy shook his helm. That wasn't what he was worried about. He just –just didn't want to be locked up; didn't want to go to jail. He wasn't a bad mech, really he wasn't. If he'd known Vertebreak had been...had been...he never would have taken the under-the-table job offer.

"We know you aren't guilty. I know that. We know you had nothing to do with the deaths, and we know Vertebreak was trying to implicate you to escape discovery. And we'll make sure you aren't locked up. I promise. No one except Vertebreak is being locked up over this. Trust me on that, okay?"

Some of the anxious trembling faded on hearing those calmly, gently spoken reassurances. Mourncall tossed him another grateful glance for getting one problem squared away so quickly, thus allowing his focus to be returned fully to the conference. There had been something else in that glance though, something akin to a question. Almost imperceptibly he had shaken his helm in reply. He knew what he was asking – and he hadn't told her yet. He simply hadn't had the right opportunity. He then turned his own focus back to the discussion, still keeping a hand on the understudy's own.

"So you really think they might have a go at the kid? Even on such flimsy evidence?" Carbine grunted.

"They tried it today, didn't they?" Aegis reminded him grimly, "And I wouldn't call it flimsy. Unfortunately it's not. The kid's scent on the remote controller, fresh, with no trace of Vertebreak's on it at all? Pretty damning from the point of view of the Academy Board and the High Councilor's sitting it on the trial. If we don't defend Cipher properly the opposition could take him down like a tidal wave. We can't let that happen; the kid's innocent as a new built. We all know that."

Cipher, the understudy, almost instantly started trembling again. Counterforce squeezed his hand, extended his field to mingle with his. Cipher looked over at him, his own pale lavender optics locking with his own. For the briefest of kliks he seemed to be mesmerized by the contrasting gold and silver gaze that looked calmly back at him. Then his gaze faltered, dropped. But the trembling had once more stopped. Counterforce himself didn't quite understand how his peculiar optics could calm as well as confound, but he didn't really question it. He still did ask himself every now and again why some became confused by them while others become near hypnotized. If it worked both ways – fine by him.

"The Predacons could help with testimony, right?" Mourncall asked, turning to both chief officers, "Or is the opposition not willing to listen to the arguments of so called 'beasts' like the ignorant dimwatts they are?" He had noticed some of the Board and Council throwing displeased, even disgusted looks at Farleap and his trackers. It had taken a cold look from Aegis and Sentenza to keep Clouddancer from rushing one of the Council and pounding some civility into him.

"We will speak if called to do so. But we prefer to stay aside if politics become involved – and I fear they are, medic," said Farleap. "But again, we will speak if called to do so. Perhaps even if not. If they encroach on Cipher in even a subtly threatening manner, we will defend him. We know better than many that olfactory sensors can be fooled with the right methods. That is something Vertebreak was obviously well aware of. As a surgeon, someone of the medical profession, that is only reasonable."

"Thank you, Farleap," Sentenza said. "I know you try to avoid the political garbage that goes on with your kind. They give you any trouble, I'll give 'em a piece of my mind." Her yellow optics glittered suddenly as a smirk formed. "And possibly reveal some not so honest dealings of theirs as leverage. You mess with my contacts, you mess with _me._ "

"Sen'za..." Counterforce warned, eyeing her quickly. She caught his silver optic flash brighter. Admirable as her loyalty to her contacts and her Predacon allies was he said, blackmail was beneath her – and far from honorable. She might be able to get away with that as a private detective in Kaon, but so long as she was here in Praxus and working with the fifteenth she was under their guidelines.

Sentenza snorted and rolled her Predacon yellow optics but stood down, arms crossed petulantly like an angry child. One pede rebelliously thumped up on the conference table as she leaned back precariously in her chair. Once more, he was unsure if this was a glimpse at her real personality or one of the personality effects of the Nightdemon mentality. He didn't know enough of her to gauge during daylight hours where Sentenza ended and the Demon began. In daylight, from what he had seen thus far, they seemed almost symbiotic, able to nearly coexist, with only the sudden surges of mood to betray the true disharmony occurring within her.

"Mourncall, would you be able to back them up if they speak tomorrow?" Carbine wondered, one thick brow ridge arching up.

"'Course I can. I'm no expert on Predacons myself but I admit I've read a few fascinating medical articles from Iacon on their sensory systems. Knockout's research and experiments have shown that with the right chemicals and procedures it is more than possible to fool even the most seasoned tracker. He does have quite a bit of experience with Preds thanks to him being one of Predaking's caretakers during the War."

"But will they trust a former Decepticon? One once under Megatron's command no less? After all, a Decepticon is on trial here. Would there be a bias?" Clouddancer mused thoughtfully.

"That's the odd bit," admitted Aegis, idly drumming his digits on the table. "You know how the Council's been a bit... _harsh_ with some of the War veterans making up the Prime's squadron? The very 'bots who helped save Cybertron?"

Clouddancer nodded, perplexed. Bushmaster, previously examining Sentenza with a bit too many appreciative glances for Counterforce's liking, jerked his helm in the direction of the talkers. Cheetor continued to play with Softpaw while the other Felioid, Dapplehide, remained silent as a corpse. He was mute, unable to speak.

"Yes. But only with some I've noticed. Smokescreen, Arcee, Ultra Magnus, and Bulkhead have effectively remained untouched, though Smokescreen and Ultra Magnus are under pretty tight surveillance. I was not even aware Knockout had been a member of Optimus Prime's squadron until you informed me just now. I thought he had always held a bit of partiality to Predacons, and had always been an Autobot. The funny thing is this: Knockout hasn't suffered any issues from the Council aside from some 'breathing down his neck' so the humans say. He has his own clinic he runs, which is one of only a handful of Autobot run clinics in Iacon that tend to Decepticons and Predacons. That's really were the flack comes from; the politics of the place. I think the Council, court, and Academy Board would be willing to accept him as a source if his research were brought up in Cipher's defense."

He turned to the nervous understudy. "Cipher? Does that sound good to you?"

Cipher considered. After glancing 'round the table for some kind of support and finding it in many of the returning expressions, he nodded and said that was okay by him. He knew of Knockout and his research. Vertebreak knew of it too he thought but it was pretty solid stuff. Questioning it was hard.

Mourncall rose.

"I'll give Knockout a confidential call and have him send me some of his lab reports on Predacon sensory systems by today or very early tomorrow. I'll tell him we need as much time as we can muster. Cipher, would you come with me?"

The understudy hesitated. He looked to the Praxian beside him for some form of reassurance. He got it in the form of a smile and a slight nod in the medical examiner's direction. Cipher thus rose, released Counterforce's hand, and trod over to him. Mourncall put a hand on his shoulder and walked out with him. The Predacons alone heard him murmur to him that if the anxiety got too bad he'd give him some mild sedatives or a cube of Kalian Calmer.

Cheetor's own grin disguised the one that statement caused to form.

* * *

FIFTH PRECINCT, PRAXUS  
RECRUIT'S TRAINING ROOM

 _Half a joor later..._

"Ah, excuse us. Hi. Are you – you wouldn't happen to be Clocker, would you? We'd like to have a word with him."

This innocently spoken question on the part of Counterforce was directed at a surprisingly old mech colored dull bronze, very lean in appearance. When they had both been directed in here he had been busy leaning against the wall behind him in one of the practice sparring rooms, observing a trio of fresh recruits duel with practice weapons. He still was doing so. In one hand was held a small cube of distilled Red. His rich red optics surmised them a bit suspiciously.

"Eh? I don't know neither of you. Whaddya want?"

"I take it from that response you _are_ Clocker," Sentenza observed, giving one of her best friendly smiles, "You don't know us, no, but we're mutual friends with your little pal Half-Pint. He's one of my many, many contacts, actually. One of my best in Praxus, if not _the_ best."

A good fraction of the suspicion vanished on hearing that name.

"Half-Pint, eh? What's the little bugger want sending cops from another precinct to visit with me?"

Sentenza and Counterforce exchanged glances. How were they going to break this to him? Piece by piece and gently? Or straight up and bluntly? Clocker didn't seem the most patient of older mechs, but despite his gruff exterior there was a certain kindness to him. He did care, really. The Seeker traded another look with her Praxian friend and together they silently agreed that Counterforce would do the explaining on this one. She would be providing insight and evidence.

"Clocker," he began a bit hesitantly, "We heard from Half-Pint that you were a friend of one of the missing officers of this precinct – the ones who went to investigate some suspicious activity at a nearby warehouse? We...have some bad news for you. Sentenza? Tell him what you found out."

She did. Word for word, she did. Even about the Thallium dealers arriving. From their wording she had guessed they were Thunderhoof's boys. But she left out the aftermath.

The old patrolmech's body slumped at her words. He gave a world-weary sigh. He shook his helm.

"I told those blasted kids not to go snoopin' 'round over there. Too eager to please they were, too eager to find a means to a quick promotion. Did a sweep around the building on one of my runs. Got a bad sense from the place 'spite it lookin' all legal. Looks like I was right to go warnin' them. But seems my warnin' didn't stick. Blasted kids. And now they're dead, too. You...you sure they're dead?"

Sentenza nodded. Yes, she was pretty sure. Thunderhoof was always thorough in disposal. If he wanted to get rid of someone...he really did get rid of them. They'd probably never find the bodies after this length of time.

"Least they got restitution. Nightdemon made sure o' that."

She looked at him sharply. Clocker nodded sagely, answering, Media may say what they likes to to keep the public calm, but I know a Nightdemon killin' when I seen it. I was the one to find 'em that morning, y'see. Didn't want any more people dyin' on my watch, so I had my boss transfer it over to Aegis's precinct. His people aren't so brash or helmstrong. Nightdemon always leaves no evidence, every precinct who's studied Her knows that, but She also leaves a sense of dread n' fear in the air so Kaonians say. Got a sense o' retribution there, too. It was Her alright." He snorted. "Serves them scraplets right for killin' a bunch o' kids. Here's hopin' She takes out Thunderhoof as well."

"You...support Her?" Counterforce demanded, shocked. Most upright law officers condemned Her, and Decepticons in general, good or bad, tended to fear Her to the point of reverence.

"Sure do. If the law can't do nothin', a vigilante outside the law's your next best option. Not my fault She's harsh in Her judgments. Sometimes you just gotta be harsh in return to send a message, tell 'em enough's enough. Isn't like Thunderhoof or any of his goons are guilty of any less, now, are they?"

"But killing doesn't make Her any better than the people She fights against," murmured the Seeker, "There's a better way; there's _always_ a better way."

Clocker merely shrugged.

* * *

PRAXUS HALL OF LAW AND JUDGEMENT  
DAY FIVE OF THE TRIAL

The courtroom was silent as the Council and Board reconvened in their positions in the massive chamber, having called a brief recess. Vertebreak, the defendant, sat towards the front with his attorney, spindly arms cuffed. Cipher sat with Aegis, Counterforce, and Sentenza more nervous than ever. Counterforce did his best to keep him calm. Mourncall sat nearby looking quite proud of himself. Towards the back the mighty Predacons milled, little Softpaw snoozing in the arms of Clouddancer. Broadcast was there too, though she was a fellow Decepticon and seemed to want to defend Vertebreak's reputation as a mech of his word and a good surgeon.

Mourncall's pride might well be excused. Over the past solar cycle or so the talented medical examiner had produced some very sensible arguments in defense of the young understudy, ones he felt would clinch the case against Vertebreak. The Decepticon surgeon had still claimed himself innocent, and claimed he knew very little of Predacons. His pleas were unfortunately inclined to draw hesitation from the Council, though the Academy Board was skeptical of him. The previous solar cycle had seen the Board provide the latter with an extensive psych evaluation, the head of Psychology, Rung, patiently explaining some of the terminology and what it implicated. The evidence of the bodies had been produced on the first cycle, and Mourncall had elaborated on the causes of death, specific wounds, and missing components extensively. His reports had been produced for analysis. The next solar cycle, reports from some of Aegis's and Carbine's officers told of the taboo issue of the bio-mech black market. They'd looked into it to no avail; members of the profession and recipients were incredibly tight-lipped.

Farleap and his trackers had also been called to offer evidence and testimony by the prosecutor and some of the Council, their eloquence and logic impressing some of them. Councilor Halogen was inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt, as were Shockwave and Elita-One. Surprisingly, Shockwave had offered supporting evidence on Farleap's behalf. He and Knockout had studied Predacons for quite some time now. It _was_ possible to fool their senses if you knew the proper methods. He had elaborated on those at length when asked to, Mourncall, the three Canipid trackers, and Clouddancer confirming them. Cipher was defended on those grounds and those of his being paid to help, not to ask questions. He had done so in all innocence. He was young, eager to help. How was he to know?

Star Saber and Contrail were inclined to sneer at them. Jetfire and Avalon remained neutral, acting as mediators until truly swayed. If the Praxus team could get Avalon and Jetfire on their side...they might just win this. Hopefully they'd manage it this time around. They'd been saving their ace card till as late as possible to prevent Vertebreak from knowing who had snitched from him and how. Counterforce had no desire to see his partner jeopardized. Star Saber and Contrail might condemn such a course of action as unprofessional and discard the evidence.

"This trial is now reconvened," Drivetrain stated. After Halogen's demise during the War, he had stepped in as the Council's figurative head. "Does the accuser have any further evidence to produce against the defendant? You seem to have formed quite the case against him."

"Yes, Councilor," Aegis said. "We have avoided using this due to risk of possible... _complications_ that may arise. We did technically acquire it legally through a search warrant, which the Academy Board accepted. But I will admit those labs are private and consent of the user is oftentimes required. We...did not quite have consent for this, and it was only discovered after our preliminary search by our hired help. Sentenza?"

The Seeker rose. She pulled out an unassuming data pad from her subspace compartment and wirelessly hooked up the contents to a massive holo-screen. She specifically brought up the file concerning Broadcast and Clip. A few gasps came from the professional reporters in the chamber. She noticed Broadcast's optics widen, noticed Vertebreak imperceptibly flinch. Perfect. She'd like to see him argue this. That flinch betrayed he wasn't prepared to. He was taken unawares.

Her voice, when she spoke, was clear and ringing:

"Members of the Board, Councilors – I was hired by Aegis's precinct to assist in this case. I admit outright my methods tend to be unorthodox; against standard protocol. That has served me well in Kaon. After we found the instrument in Vertebreak's lab, the one possessing faint energy traces and lingering tachyons, I was ordered to stay behind, slip into the lab in question, and see if I might obtain any further evidence."

Star Saber scowled at her. "Unorthodox? Unethical more like! That was a breach of protocol! You overreached the power of your warrant! Who gave that order?"

Counterforce lifted his helm to stare evenly at the Councilor, "I did, sir."

Multiple stares met him, some distinctly hostile, more of them shocked. He did not waver.

"Quiet, Star Saber," snapped Elita-One, "Let the Seeker explain. Continue, detective. How did you acquire this?"

She explained. All attention then focused on Vertebreak. He argued back a bit weakly:

"My surgeries are only theoretical. One must have some way of jotting down solutions and ideas, yes?"

"I'd hardly say Clip and Broadcast are theoretical, Vertebreak!" Carbine growled, halfway rising.

Vertebreak faltered. His attorney looked ready to argue in his defense, but the surgeon himself beat him to it.

"I...well, yes I admit to that. But this was the first surgery I had attempted. Yes, it was off the charts, but I had good intentions! And I most certainly did not kill Clip! Or anyone else for that matter! The instrument found was merely the tool I used to remove Broadcast's faulty warp drive. Is helping someone a crime now?"

Avalon frowned: "Mind explainin' how she wound up dead, then?"

"My client may be mentally unsound in some ways but he would never terminate someone. He does stay within Academy bounds, even if he might skirt them now and again. No one is perfect. Many are guilty of similar infringements. Are they on trial?"

"That's not answering the question, Loophole. How did Clip end up dead?" Jetfire reiterated.

"I don't know," argued Vertebreak quickly. "She was supposed to come to my lab the night before her death so I could examine her. My studies and those of others in the medical profession show that 't-grounder' field dynamos are specially constructed to stabilize tachyons. She was willing to donate if called to do so, and I was willing to offer a small sum in return. She came in one day, I conducted the exam, and removed the device with her permission. I never saw her after that."

"Councilors, thieves as a rule walk a fine line. Clip was a thief. Enemies are not uncommon in their profession. Perhaps someone had a gear to pick with her? Found her and killed her?" Loophole added.

Jetfire and Avalon hemmed. That was, of course, possible...

"In the exact method employed by the Mad Doctor?" Shockwave droned unemotionally, "That is highly unlikely. A fellow thief would be unlikely (I will not say it impossible) to know which line to sever to result in a bleed-out, and the line severed was internal. Are you suggesting the supposed thief was aware of the murderer's surgical methods and copied them with pinpoint accuracy?"

Sentenza honestly could've run up and hugged Shockwave at that point. Talk about a rebuttal!

Vertebreak and Loophole opened their mouths to argue back but shut them in turn.

"And was Broadcast aware of the means by which her warp drive was repaired?" a member of the Board asked, "I thought full disclosure was a rule of the job for you doctor types. That's a rule we set up."

"Yes, I was aware another was donating," said Broadcast. "If I'd known he was going to kill someone to get it I would've walked out. I'd much rather be teleported into another dimension or atomized than have a dead femme's part inside me."

"Broadcast!" Loophole barked at her, "There is no solid proof for that!"

"Seriously, is the data pad not enough for you bunch? Those dead mechs and femmes that Vertebreak calls 'theoretical cases' were all identified and match the names on file. You saw the evidence reports the second day! I should know better than anyone! I reported on some of them after they were found dead and later identified by Mourncall!"

Dead silence in the chamber. Aegis's optics were round, and one hand was over his mouth. From his expression it was hard to tell if his mouth was open or if he was grinning like an idiot. For all anyone knew he was managing both. Here he thought Broadcast was defending him! Give the femme enough evidence to turn on him and turn she would. Backstabbing was a bit of thing with 'Cons, but unlike some of her political brothers and sisters she had a conscience on her.

The Council and Board adjourned. They returned with only a breem. They had both decided a sentence they said. Drivetrain gave it:

" _This High Council of Cybertron and the Crystal City Academy Board, upon reviewing evidence from both sides, finds the defendant guilty of multiple charges of murder and illegal operations. Sentence shall be imprisonment aboard the prison ship Alchemor..._ "

Vertebreak was taken away, protesting. When he passed Sentenza, he shot her a venomous glare through his toxic yellow optics. He hissed at her that she would be his next subject. Then the officers jerked him away.

* * *

Broadcast followed them out of the chamber towards the massive double doors. The klik the Praxus team got outside, Cipher abruptly embraced Sentenza, Counterforce, and the two precinct Commanders. Then he hugged the teleporting reporter. He was crying by the time he got to her, still blubbering his incoherent but sparkfelt thanks. Broadcast a bit awkwardly returned it, patting his shoulder, saying it was no problem. Cipher went over and threw his arms around Clouddancer then. The Draconian femme returned it with surprising enthusiasm, spinning him around before putting him back on solid ground. Farleap bowed his helm. Bushmaster offered him a cuff on the arm. Cheetor then tackled him in beast form. His Canipid brothers and Softpaw followed. Soon he was lost beneath a pile of ecstatic beasts. Laughter ensued when they heard the understudy request he be "please allowed to get up. They were kinda crushing him?"

They thus let him up. The smile on his face was that of a relieved, happy, content sparkling.

"See? What'd we tell you, kid? Innocent until proven guilty. And you were never proven guilty, were you?" Carbine laughed.

"Thank you. All of you," Cipher repeated a little more coherently this time. He turned to the black Seeker. "You especially, detective. That data pad was his downfall. If you hadn't found it, I'd be the one on the Alchemor I think."

She smiled: "Not a problem, kid. Just...don't go taking jobs from shifty characters in the future, a'ight? Especially if the terms seem suspicious. Deal?"

He winced but said he would endeavor not to do so. He said if there was any way to make up for that, he'd do it. It gave her an idea.

"Actually, there might be. How would you feel about working for me instead, as a part of my intelligence network? I need more connects out here, and you seem like a good sort to me despite your honest mistake. What do you say?"

"Or you could even work for me," offered Mourncall with a friendly smile, "I could use an apprentice. You might even do both. Working for the good detective just requires you be an extra set of optics and audials for her, feed her any interesting data. You could help me keep her posted on any cases of interest here. A two-in-one deal. Don't get those too often, eh?" He chuckled.

Cipher grinned broadly and accepted the terms. The tall silver and red medical examiner extended a hand, as did Sentenza. Cipher eagerly shook both.

"Welcome to the team, kid."

* * *

 **Author's Note: You could just hear Aegis giving one of those "Oooooh!" sounds. I could. xD**

 **And yay! Sen'za gets herself another line in her massive spider's web of contacts, and Mourny's got himself an apprentice! I did a little nod to Foxbear in the understudy's name, but he's a medical trainee, not a hacker or anything.**

 **I put Shockwave on the Council because I think he'd offer some very interesting viewpoints on things, and he was in fact a former Councilor before the War. Past repeating itself in a way. Funny thing is, he runs on logic...and sometimes that logic can lean towards the side of the Autobot political party. Decepticon he is, but logical people tend to go to arguments that make the most sense. Star Saber is one of the "corrupt" guys on the Council, another former Councilor who's views are a bit skewed. And you all remember Contrail from the episode with Terrashock.**

 **There are others not mentioned here, but like I said only some are present** **–** **not all.**

 **Edit: Went in and replaced Halogen with Drivetrain. :P Happy now, guys?**


	7. One-Shot: Taking the Night Off

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

Solitary One-Shot: Taking the Night Off

* _This is one of many glimpses into Counterforce and Sentenza's budding relationship. This one will have a little more sweetness and cuteness than my usual fare with these two, but it will still be fairly dark in tone. This one will be taking place mainly in Kaon. Takes place after Sentenza returns from Vertebreak's trial, which took about five days to conclude. How long after the trial is up to interpretation, as I will not explicitly say._

 _*Deca-cycle is ten days according to a well-versed reviewer. :) Thanks for the clarification, Game-Watch. Love you, buddy._

* _Warning: Long_

 _"Skellige Winds" belongs to MiracleofSound._

* * *

KAON'S CITY CENTER, SOUTHWEST QUADRANT  
SUNCREST APARTMENTS  
APARTMENT #140  
TIME: 1300 HOURS

Sentenza lay curled up on one of the seats. The room itself was dimmed but not quite dark, little sconce-like lamps on the walls and rectangular ones on the ceiling providing some saving illumination. On an end table to her left sat an empty cube of high grade that she had laced with a harmless sedative. Her Predacon yellow optics were shuttered. Her wings were held low. Clutched tightly in one arm crook was Nero. Outside, Cybertron's host star was slowly starting to dip in the skies toward the horizon.

That was what Camber saw when she popped in to check on her most unusual boarder. She'd got back a quarter joor ago from speaking with some of her contacts, ever hunting for more of Thunderhoof's goons in an effort to reach their boss. In her opinion she felt the Seeker should lay off on the hunt every so often, learn te take breaks from her work. Thunderhoof was not te be toyed with nor threatened. Cops had died trying te go after him. But Sentenza was adamant about bringing him in, so she did her best to pray for her to ensure she returned safely from her nighttime excursions. And she'd told her a few times she'd be of no use to the people if she worked herself into her grave. It was a sad, near pitiful truth that Sentenza herself was a bit...neglectful of her personal health some solar cycles. More than once in the past she'd come in to find her tending gashes and mesh wounds, even scorch marks from blasters, faceplates scrunched in concentration and what had looked much like annoyance.

Those were thankfully a rarity now, but she hadn't ever asked where the wounds had come from though; that weren't really her business. She'd just done what she could te help her patch herself up. She trusted her with her work, so she returned the favor by providing some patch jobs whenever she may need it.

Camber shook her helm as she gazed at her for a moment, briefly debating running down to grab a thermal blanket for her. The Seeker's power down cycles were...well, frankly a mite bit strange te her, but it helped in her work in the grand scheme. Criminals were most often active after dark. Better she be rested up before stalking out in Kaon's tunnels and alleyways to catch those rotten crooks who worked under the law, who hurt people for business, pleasure, or both.

Her crisp blue optics glowed faintly in the dim room's threshold. Having her as a tenant had been odd at first for Camber, what with her unusual activity patterns and moodiness. But after she had got to know her she had found a surprisingly pleasant tempered young femme with a passion for aiding the victimized and quite the clever processor in her helm. 'Course, being 'round dead bodies and the like due to yer job was bound to leave ye a bit downed. Couldn't be helped. And Sentenza's contact network was vast, made up of hundred of mechs and femmes in dozens of cities – even Predacons. Keeping that network together like a well-oiled machines was a feat in it of itself. On top of working cases she was payed for and her own personal mission, it was a wonder she didn't collapse halfway through the day. But the stubborn femme just kept on going, rarely taking time for herself.

She was so focused on helping others she neglected te see te her own personal life. In fact, come te think of it, she didn't really seem te _have_ a personal life.

Still, she supposed, some good had come out of that Crystal City case of hers. She'd actually met someone: some young Praxus cop by name of Counterforce. She'd talk te her about him some afternoons and evenings, smiling the whole while. Camber'd yet to actually talk to him though, or meet him for that matter, but there was a glow when she talked about him, an appreciation. She could tell whenever she'd talked to him in private: there'd be much more life in her than before. She'd also been much more stable in her moods ever since her return.

Sighing, she pulled back and let the door shut. She'd let the poor femme catch some winks. She'd been busy lately. Best she rest up.

She thus did not see the Seeker tense and tighten her grip on Nero, nor did she hear her whimper. If her optics had been open they would have been revealed as dark orange.

* * *

PRAXUS'S FIFTEENTH PRECINCT

[Counterforce? Could I see you in my office for a klik?]

Aegis's voice broke the gentle silence Counterforce always found himself in when reading over case files. The golden and silver mech placed his data pad back on his desk and politely rose, saying he would come right away. He was always happiest when working, helping, but he would occasionally take time for himself, and whenever Aegis called him he would readily drop whatever it was he was doing and go to him. The Seeker mech had come to be like a Guardian to him.

He quickly made his way through the halls and to the Commander's office. He was about to knock and ask if he could come in. Aegis himself forestalled him:

"Door's open, kid. Always is. You _do_ know that, right?" Aegis sounded amused. The younger Praxian could almost see him shaking his helm.

And so he pressed a hand to the panel on one side and let the sliding doors hiss open. He came in, stood before his chief expectantly. Aegis himself was busy flicking through some data pads of his own, optics scanning them quickly, efficiently, but at the same time without any real hurry. He motioned for him to take a seat. So Counterforce obeyed, taking a seat and waiting for Aegis to finish with whatever it was he was looking over. Finally he put the data pad down, turning his attention to the younger golden and silver Praxian opposite him.

Aegis decided to be up front with him:

"Counterforce, considering your and the detective's rapid success in solving the case against Vertebreak, I'd like to offer you a promotion. Someone with your talent shouldn't be forever a CSI. I could put you as a case analyst, or a case lead. I know you've declined in the past, but come on, son – you can't stay there forever. You could do a lot more higher up the ranks. Pay'd be better, too."

The younger Praxian blinked at him. Aegis saw him consider the offer very visibly. But he was not surprised when he smiled amiably, shook his helm, and declined once more.

"Sir, I like where I'm at. I don't like being the center of attention. 'Bots higher up are more vulnerable to the media. I...I like just being a regular investigator, sir. I don't want to be higher up. I don't care about pay either. I just like helping. I'm happy where I'm at. I'm sure there are other officers who could benefit more from it than me. I'm –"

"Nothing special. Just good at the job," Aegis finished for him, smiling and shaking his helm as he repeated those famous words of his. His modesty knew no bounds; "I know, I know. Learn to take some credit for once, kid. You're the best homicide investigator I've got." He shook his helm. "Ah. It was worth a shot in any case. Well, now that's out of the way, I can get on to another suggestion for you. More likely you'll accept this one."

Counterforce looked at him quizzically: "Sir?"

"You did a fantastic job on that case like I said. You'd never agree though. Just doing your duty and all that. Fastest I've ever seen a case done, even with you. You and Sentenza are quite the team. So in light of that...I'm telling you as your commanding officer to take some time off. I think you've more than earned it. You're no use to me if you work yourself into the ground. You can take it whenever you like within the next two solar cycles. No calls, no cases, no nothing. Just enjoy some downtime for once – for _real_ this time."

He blinked again. Was...was Aegis being serious right now? Every officer got some off time but he'd never truly made use of it in that sense. He always tried to stop by Macadam's when he could and swap a tale or two with Half-Pint, or just talk with him. He just...never really felt right if he wasn't doing something work related. He liked to be occupied. Kept his processor from growing lazy. In his career line, getting lazy in the thought department could cost a mech or femme their freedom – or even their life.

"Sir?" he repeated.

Aegis grinned a reiterated: "Take the deca-cycle off, kid. Pit, even just take the night off if you can't do that. _Take a break._ It's not going to kill you."

He was amused to see the kid look plainly stunned and confused. "Um...yes, sir. Am I allowed to leave the city? There's...someone I'd like to meet up with."

"'Course you can. No problem with that. You mind me asking who? Or is that prying?"

The younger Praxian dropped his gaze a bit shyly, but Aegis noted he was smiling to himself in the manner of an artist who saw something truly beautiful. He grinned slightly. Uh-oh. He'd seen that look before. He'd seen something had started between the two during the crime scene analysis. More recently he'd seen him smiling a lot more when he came into the office or left it. According to his own bond-mate, Selene, he'd had that look himself after meeting her the first few times. Poor kid had it bad already. Still, he didn't say the black Seeker's name out loud; might embarrass him more. Always best to be tactful about matters of possible romance, especially within the workforce.

"Ah. Never mind," he said dismissively, "Go on. You can either start your break today or tomorrow. Your choice."

"If it's all the same to you, I'll start tomorrow, sir. I've got a few leads on some of Thunderhoof's drug circulators I'd like to look into. If we can take out his supply chains and thus one of his sources of income we'll lessen his threat pretty significantly. Best way to weaken someone in that sort of position is start snatching credits out of from under them. Not only does it tick them off and make them reckless, it also removes resources and funding that'll weaken his grip."

Aegis nodded. That was fine by him. He had to guess that Sentenza or one of her contacts had been the ones to provide the leads. All of his other officers were busy with other cases, and Counterforce had very interestingly supplied to him that the Seeker femme had a personal mission to see the crime boss either dead or in a stasis cell. He had considered hiring her permanently so she could help him with that, as he had his own vendetta against Thunderhoof, but Counterforce had also told him that Sentenza tended to clash with the official spectrum depending on their rigidity. Pit, he'd seen that at the conference with Cipher – she was pretty slagged rebellious. But there was a softer side to her as well: she was willing to give second chances, like with Cipher, and she was ferociously, almost viciously protective of her allies.

Her voice rang in his helm:

" _Mess with my contacts, you mess with me._ "

The Seeker's words he had felt were all too true.

He leaned back in his chair and plucked up the data pad he'd been skimming through. Sentenza had been kind enough to truly hook his precinct up with a wandering Predacon tribe whose territory included Praxus: a medium sized, tight-knit pack of Canipids called the Blue Moon tribe, consisting of about twenty members. Apparently she was on friendly terms with them. She had warned him they were a bit of a handful though. Hyper. Loved to play. If they gave him any trouble he could take it up with their alpha, Highmoon. He was more contained.

Counterforce, sensing he'd been given permission to leave, rose and exited the office.

* * *

KAON'S CITY CENTER, SOUTHWEST QUADRANT  
LOUNGE OF THE SUNCREST APARTMENT'S HOUSING OFFICE  
TIME: 1200 HOURS

 _The following solar cycle..._

"Camber! Camber!"

The owner of the apartments jerked from the general tidying of the reception area. She was stunned to see Sentenza burst through the doors in what looked like eager, childish delight and a touch of harmless, breathless fright or perhaps surprise. Her yellow optics glittered like polished citrine and were wide. Her wings were hitched up excitedly. A smile was plastered on her lip-plates. She darted over, nearly tripping over herself as she swept by one of the long seats.

"My! What's the problem, dear? I've never seen ye this way before! Or this clumsy!" she noted laughingly, "Get a hold o' yerself first though! Ye'll wind up on the floor at this rate!"

Sentenza made an obvious effort to regain her composure. Her wings lowered down to a more relaxed position. She joined her at the desk, optics still shining despite her more formal, collected bearings.

"He's coming!"

"Who dear? Ye have so many mech contacts and I've only ever met some. Ye got some contact comin' to help ye out with yer little quest or somethin'? Is that why yer so worked up? Ye get some big lead on 'Hoof?"

She shook her helm vigorously. "No! _He's_ coming! Counterforce! Aegis gave him some time off and he's coming here! Today!"

Camber stared at her. A smile of her own broke out. She paused in her work. Ah. Now the excitement made sense.

"Well, that's wonderful, I'm sure! I'd very much like te meet this mech if ye don't mind too much, miss. He sounds like a right decent personality from everything ye've told me about 'im. Not many cops like 'im around here. Ye ask me we'd be better off here in Kaon if we a few of 'im to go 'round. Maybe Thunderhoof and his boys wouldn't have so much of a grip here if we had some good, honest cops in our precincts. Too many are in Thunderhoof's subspace pocket despite efforts te the contrary. Credits do talk."

The Seeker femme grinned. She said that Counterforce knew her location here and he'd drop by when he got there. She'd love for her to meet him. He was quite the charmer. His optics were a bit funny to look at though so he'd probably come in with his visor down. He seemed a teeny bit self-conscious about them at first, but once he was sure others were comfortable around him he'd drop the visor and show them. She just had to promise not to stare at him. Camber promised not to.

"What time is he going te get here, miss? So I can alert ye when he arrives. Can't ask ye to sit in here all the day. 'Course, won't stop ye if ye do. I'm not one te get in-betwixt a femme and her date. Love makes ye do some pretty nonsensical things so my Guardians said."

Sentenza's gaze dropped abashedly. She mumbled in a half-sparked protest he wasn't her date. Pit, not by a long-shot. She didn't know him well enough to start any real courtship nonsense with him, and she didn't want to. Since he was an official law officer that would be pretty troublesome – what with protocol and all, not to mention he lived thousands of klicks away. Long-distance relationships were always such a hassle. He was just a friend she told her. He was nice and she trusted him. And that was it.

Camber cocked a somewhat dubious brow ridge at her, smirking. Her gaze seemed to say "Keep foolin' yerself, sweetspark. Keep foolin' yerself..."

"He'll be here this afternoon or thereabouts," she said after an awkward pause, reverting to the original subject, "He'll finish his workday around 1400 hours and then he's 'bridging into Iacon and he'll drive over. I tried to ask him if I could act as an escort for him or even have him 'bridge into the seventh precinct – you know, the one who usually employs me – but he said he'd be fine. I believe him. Hey, if he wants to be stubborn about asking a femme for help, let him." She snorted, but not derisively.

"Oh, I rather doubt that, miss. Probably just don't want to impose on ye, that's all. Praxians are always one for formality, and they defer to the femmes."

"Yeah, I know," She smiled. "Sometimes I swear he's too polite. But he is sweet. I'll give him that. Spark of gold, that one."

"I'll give ye a holler over comms. when he shows, miss. Go on out and enjoy the day. I can manage here. Primus knows you could use some down time."

Sentenza smiled back, rolling her yellow optics. Giving a smile, a soft sigh, and a shake of her helm she removed herself from Camber's reception desk and made her way for the doors which let in glistening golden sunlight. Camber saw a spring in her step as she went out into the street that was almost a little dance. She could've sworn to any law officer afterwards that she heard the hummed notes of a lively Earth song escape her vocalizer just before she took off.

Camber sent out a little prayer:

' _Please. Don't go ruinin' her day. Make sure this goes without problems. Havin' her light extinguished today'd hurt her somethin' fierce._ '

* * *

KAON  
OUTSIDE THE SEVENTH PRECINCT  
TIME: 1445 HOURS

"Down five blocks and to the right, first apartment complex I see should be Suncrest? Thank you. Appreciated."

The rugged Kaonian femme grunted her response but did offer the golden and silver Praxian a parting wave.

Counterforce had only been to Kaon once in his entire life and...Primus, how long ago had that been? Ten groons? Fourteen? It felt like a lifetime ago. And the city looked very different than how he vaguely remembered. Understandable in hindsight and from what Sentenza had mentioned to him – Kaonians were constantly having to mend or alter their city to counteract the acid storms that wracked it every couple of stellar cycles. Businesses also rose and fell continuously as some got lucky and other went down. Or shut down for any number of reasons. Thunderhoof unfortunately had a strong grip here, unlike back home. He'd have to mind himself here. Still, the Kaonians he met were pleasant enough...

Transforming, he pulled back out onto the road and drove off. Following the femme's directions while doing his best to absorb the city's layout and appearance he soon came upon one of the nicer apartment complexes he had seen thus far in Kaon. The building was in very good condition, the metal shining pale grey and silver with bronze and copper accents around the windows and balconies. An even more prominent accent was around the main arched entryway, beneath which sliding transparent doors provided a glimpse into a pleasant, home-y looking reception and lounge area.

The Praxian nodded, smiling to himself. "Hm. Suncrest."

On an illuminated plaque near the door the name was confirmed.

Pulling off the road, he made his way to the doors, the motion sensors on the doors picking him up and dutifully opening. Inside, a single femme of a medium but slightly hefty build and somewhat aged in countenance idled behind the desk, smiling and humming to herself. She looked very much the part of the friendly, sweet-tempered aunt of human literature. When the doors hissed shut her helm snapped up to look at him.

"Ah, hello. Are you the owner here? I'm, ah, I'm looking for someone who lives here. She, erm, I – we know each other...?"

The femme's smile only grew broader.

"Oh! Ye must be Counterforce, aye? The one she worked with in Crystal City? Sentenza said ye'd be stoppin' in around now. Said yer boss gave ye the day off."

Counterforce dimly recognized the voice print. An amiable smile bloomed. He gave a quick, casual salute that he'd seen Aegis do many times. But Camber noted he kept the visor down, and he did seem a bit awkward. Just like Sen'za had said. Maybe because his resplendent color scheme was a bit out of place in Kaon? He stood out like a shining star in the void.

"Camber, I presume? Sentenza's told me a bit about you. Do you know if she's here by any chance? I-If not, I'm more than willing to wait here for her. If you'll let me, that is. Will you? I-I don't really know the city very well...Been a while since I've last visited."

The femme assured him he could wait here without issue. She then said she'd give the Seeker in question a ring per her little deal with her, an act which she performed moments later. She'd had her go out and enjoy the sunshine until he got here.

* * *

A curved-winged black jet shot and looped through the skies above Kaon's buildings. It spiraled up around some of the tallest spires, dove low towards the streets. Never, never in her entire life had Sentenza felt this good, and her activity betrayed her good mood.

Still...a sliver of dark, of despair, tugged at her spark. There was something she would have to tell him if he didn't find it out from the media: just last night she had failed to suppress the night code once more. Counterforce, loyal spark that he was, couldn't stay on the line with her all night every night. He had a life of his own, a job of his own. Oh, he tried – but like she'd said to Camber, long-distance relationships were a hassle. Not even the ion lamp had stopped it last night. So, in the dead of night she had snuck out to hunt – to let the Demon hunt. And she'd very quickly found a victim in an Enforcer often employed by the Council to deal with problems of a "sensitive" nature. The Enforcer had been dead before they'd even known to run. That was her main point of concern here: she hadn't killed a criminal. She'd killed someone in the official spectrum. If that didn't convince the Council she was a dangerous vigilante who needed to be killed she didn't know what else would.

But she had managed to save some poor scrounger who'd apparently seen or overheard something he shouldn't have in relation to those politicians – some strange looking crab-like mech. Decepticon but he acted harmless. He'd fled the scene after professing his sincerest thanks to the Nightdemon for saving him. She hadn't replied, merely left the scene.

She didn't let that dampen her too severely. The Demon had just wanted to protect, and the Enforcer had stupidly drawn the 'Con into her domain of shadows. She'd saved a life, Thunderhoof was slowing having a noose tied 'round his neck, the sun was shining today. And Counterforce was paying her a visit. Even the mere thought of him made her spark glow.

Sentenza flew up to one of the spires and landed. She simply stood there and gazed out over the city, letting the strong winds whip past her as she smiled and let out a laugh. Vehicles moved to and fro beneath her like a colony of ants, ever working, ever busy. She saw others milling around outside buildings, on the sidewalks, and outside residences. Kaon usually looked a bit grungy to her, not just from the rain but from its dark underbelly. Today it shone with a thousand metallic hues. Everything just felt...right. Even the sun seemed brighter than normal.

Up there amidst the winds she stayed, a black guardian watching over her city. She had no idea how much time passed, nor did she notice it past. She just enjoyed the wind and the sunshine and the view beneath her.

Then the moment broke. Her comm. link pinged. A quick check of the time showed it to be fairly soon after 1400 hours.

[Miss? Yer friend's here askin' for ye.]

She had to resist the urge to laugh aloud. Counterforce was here already? Punctual of him! Oh, this solar cycle couldn't get any better!

"Tell him I'll be there in a breem! Thanks, Cam!"

Cutting the link, she leapt off the building. With a flourish more befitting of a sky dancer she transformed and screamed off towards her home.

* * *

"So yer boss gave ye some time off, eh?" Camber was asking.

"Well, yes. He doesn't normally order me outright to take off hours but he – well, he offered a fairly convincing argument the other solar cycle. And I'm not one to go arguing my superior's orders, not usually. He's head of the precinct, so he knows what's best for his officers. Besides, I've only been to Kaon once and that was a long time ago. I was hoping Sentenza could help reacquaint me with the city, maybe even introduce me to some of her friends here."

Camber had to admit that Sentenza was right. This mech really was a polite, charming personality. Very well spoken, too. Ever so slightly misinformed though. Sentenza didn't really have any "friends" in the way he meant. She just had certain contacts she was closer with than others. Even she wasn't really a friend to her, but someone who kept a roof over her helm and put up with her odd activities and habits. With her it was all business.

"And that argument was?"

Counterforce smiled, laughing a little to himself. "He said I'd be no good to him if I worked myself into my grave. Hard to argue that. But I only imagine how much information might be gotten from those victims we never hear about or solve their cases...Makes me wish we had a Prime around sometimes. Stories all say they have links to the dead through Primus himself."

The femme cocked a curious brow ridge at him, observing: "Ye didn't strike me as the type to go listenin' te old legends, sir."

"Stories. Not legends. Stories are a bit more truthful, but legends can have a truth of their own," Counterforce corrected her, quoting his Guardian, "And please don't call me sir, Camber. It's just Counterforce. If that doesn't feel right to you then you can use 'officer' instead."

"Suit yerself. But still. Not many cops of yer standin' go takin' time off in Kaon. Somethin' in particular strike yer fancy about the place? Or should I say someone? Hm?"

For one of those rare times in his life the Praxian fumbled in his wording, his normally smooth glossa feeling heavy as lead in water. He felt his faceplates heat up. This femme wasn't seriously suggesting...? Honestly, all this amounted to was his visiting a friend who really benefited from him and would could return the favor by showing him around the city. It was no more complicated than that. At least that's what he kept telling himself. His spark was persistently saying otherwise.

"I, eh, ahm...well..."

He was saved when the double doors hissed open to permit a familiar slender black and red Seeker femme, yellow optics shimmering and a smile on her lip-plates. He rose at once and went over to her, accepting the extended hand and shaking it. She held out a palm in a more casual greeting and he met that as well. The visor snapped up, revealing his bizarre but transfixing golden and silver optics. Her hand reached up to hover over them. He smiled and stalled it.

"Come on, now. You don't see me poking at your optics, do you?" he teased, smiling.

She laughed. Camber had never seen her laugh so much in one solar cycle. She'd never seen her laugh so much at all. Sentenza led him back over to her. The Seeker eyed her with some humorous indignation.

"I'm guessing you've been getting to know him – judging by that conversation I interrupted?" she asked.

Camber chuckled: "Oh! I didn't mean no harm in the questions, miss. Just havin' some fun with him is all! Ye really did make a good choice with this 'un. Polite devil he is." She leaned in conspiratorially, whispering: "And he's handsome, too!"

Counterforce heard her and lowered his helm abashedly, giving a dry, awkward cough as he looked away. The visor snapped back down as he retreated some ways away. Sentenza smacked a hand to her faceplates. But she was still smiling. Leave it to Camber to push the poor nightlight into a corner and embarrass him in front of her. He wasn't used to such upfront wording and behavior around femmes, and certainly not one he was friends with. Camber and Sentenza herself were used to blunt speech.

"Now look what you did," Sentenza scolded humorously, gesturing at the mech, "Shame on you, Cam!"

They shared a laugh. Counterforce scuffed a pede on the ground, obviously uncomfortable. She called over to him:

"Come on, nightlight. She's just complimenting you is all. Mechs compliment me all the time on my looks! Least you can do is take it in stride! Have you never had someone compliment you?"

The Praxian made his way back over. He said that he wasn't all that comfortable with praise. He wasn't one to bask in it. Things like "Job well done" he could handle; being called handsome by someone who might be termed a complete stranger was a bit much he admitted honestly. It was made just that much more awkward when said stranger was a, erm, a femme. Sentenza rolled her optics with a snort while Camber simply laughed. So polite this one was!

Still, the Seeker noted a twinge of worry and even a little shame in Counterforce's gaze. Did he know about the Enforcer killing already? Or was something else bothering him?

Counterforce himself noted something very akin to guilt or pain in her own yellow optics. Had something happened? He'd been busy these past few solar cycles and unable to call her at night like he usually did, and she hadn't checked in with him in the mornings, on his way to work, or in the evenings. Each of those nights he'd prayed nothing would happen, but...She...she hadn't... _done_ anything, had she?

"So? Where would you like to go first?" Sentenza asked.

"That's for you to decide. I'm the guest here. This is your city. You're the tour guide, not me. You lead, I'll follow."

She smiled: "I have an idea where we can go."

With that, she proceeded to drag him to the doors. Camber watched them reach the threshold where they paused. Then, smiling, she dragged him away from the building. She herself smiled with a sigh, leaning on elbow against her desk. Young love she thought. Always so spirited and delightful to behold. She was just happy the good detective had an arm to lean on now – handsome one and capable to boot. Oh, yes. Try as they might to deny it to her, she was world-wise enough to know a budding relationship when she saw it.

' _Have fun, dears. Don't go gettin' into any trouble now._ '

* * *

Counterforce let himself be led by the Seeker from her spot above her. Where precisely she was leading him he didn't claim to know, but she was staying within the main downtown areas. She was going fairly far afield however, heading for the outskirts of the busy city center. Some place she wanted to show him, perhaps? He'd rather been hoping they would have a nice, quiet evening in her apartment so he could talk with her in peace, But if she wanted to get out and do something fun, he wasn't about to stop her. A Seeker needed this kind of social activity to stay sane. Lately she'd been somewhat deprived of it, busy as she was.

And he liked to see her so happy.

What he found most interesting and encouraging was that, as they went, a random Kaonian would recognize the curved-winged black jet above him and either wave or offer a verbal greeting. Sentenza would answer back with simple flashes of her accent lights or a returning greeting. These acts and words serve to show and prove to him that she was treated with respect, held in high regard by the city's inhabitants. They were not afraid of her, for they knew not of her double nature. To them, she was a slagged good detective who was not afraid to bend the rules to solve the case. The Nightdemon was another matter altogether. A few Kaonians he saw actively avoiding dark alleys or whispering amongst one another. There was reverence in their gazes. Reverence – and fear.

' _Oh no...Has the Nightdemon been active again?_ ' He hadn't seen anything in reports or the media yet. But perhaps the Kaonians were always like this when the Demon was mentioned or had even so much as been sensed, invisible as she was to the unaided optic when hunting.

"Where exactly," he asked, "are we going?

"You'll see," she said. "I haven't had a reason to come to this place lately (owners have been busy elsewhere; frankly I've been busy as well) but I've got good enough reason now. Got word the owners are back. They're contacts of mine – and I guess you could consider them friends, too. Will warn you they're..." She laughed a little there. "Well, not what you'd expect."

She flew down another street, he tagging along beneath her. He consciously took note of street layout and buildings that stood out from others as a means of mapping the city. He didn't know when he'd be back, so it was better to get a general idea of all the changes made now.

He held in a laugh when she stopped in front of a large building that, while different from the one back home, was easily recognizable: a night club. He knew Sentenza liked the places wherever she went, along with Macadam's. She'd told him she knew someone in every outlet large and small across Cybertron. In them she could combine work with a little pleasure and much needed social exposure. Even if she tended to avoid others as a rule in the evening, just being in a crowded room, listening in on conversations and enjoying a cube of Energon gave her that needed exposure. He tried to visit the Macadam's in Praxus on evenings he wasn't exceptionally busy. And in a crowded nightclub or bar the Demon was less likely to act out. He'd never been in a Kaonian night club though.

The Praxian did note a bit curiously that there were no bouncers here like at home. Was that what she meant? Or were they just on the inside?

"Come on. Might wanna brace yourself – little bit different than the ones in Praxus. If you want my personal opinion they're _loads_ more fun."

Transforming, she swept through the doors. Counterforce followed behind her, unsure of what to expect. What he saw in the dimmer lighting had him torn between laughing and reverting to his police training:

Music blared from speakers around the interior. Two large mechs were in the midst of brawling in the middle of the business. Hoots and hollers came from the other patrons as they watched, even from the keeps at the bar. A femme sat off to one side, noticeable due to her bright colors and expression of boredom and exasperation. She might as well have had a bright neon sign over her helm saying "Ugh. _Mechs..._ " One particular patron, a bright red mech who bore some affiliation with music or perhaps communications thanks to the speakers on his legs and chest was busy recording the bar fight with a wide grin. Cries of dismay and some laughter erupted when one of the two fighters landed a solid blow on the other's chassis, making him stagger and nearly fall.

In the end he simply stood there stunned until Sentenza guided him to a quieter corner of the establishment where a few beast-formers and pseudo-beasts chatted amongst themselves and bet on who the winner would be. Two of said beasts, Avioid mechs, snapped their attention to the Seeker when they came over. One was large and resembled a large eagle-like bird. The other was smaller and looked much like a smaller bird of prey – smaller, slimmer, sleeker. What interested him the most about them were the tribal crests each bore, ones quite distinct from other tribes: Sky Painters.

The larger Avioid grinned and emitted a rather inappropriate whistle in her direction. Counterforce misinterpreted the friendliness and put himself between her and the two beasts as they flew over, engine letting out a low-frequency warning rumble. But Sentenza pushed him aside with a laugh and let the smaller Avioid perch on her shoulder while the other took up residence on her helm.

"Yo, Black Bird! Where you been, femme?!" exclaimed the larger of the two, peeping down at her from above. "You haven't come by to visit!"

"We thought ol' Hoof had finally put you in the ground or somethin'!" added the smaller. He took note of the flashy gold and silver Praxian nearby. He hovered near him, grinning and gesturing: "Whoa-ho! And who's the hot rod you got rollin' with you tonight? Somebody finally goin' out on a date? Onyx, you sure know how to pick 'em out, huh?"

Counterforce snapped the visor down and backed away awkwardly. Why – why did everyone think he was her date? They were just friends, here to spend the late afternoon and evening together to catch up with each other. He did have some important things to tell her and he suspected she had some news for him as well. The noise from the establishment would help to drown out their speech from curious eavesdroppers, and they could always use short-band or private comm's if it got too personal.

Sentenza laughed: "Deadbeat! Dropout! Leave the poor devil alone, would you? He's just a friend. This is Counterforce. Praxus Homicide Investigation. We worked a case together and I...lent his precinct a hand or two in other ways. Boss gave him some time off and he popped by to say hello. Go on, nightlight. Say hi. These are the friends I told you about. Former Painters. Decided to set this place up after they retired due to too many antics, and as a way to let Preds mingle with us city folk over a cube or two." She paused, then added: "And they have a fascination with Terran music. Also when I say 'antics' I mean they got into too much trouble with the law back when. Petty thieves. They'd sneak into residences in the dead of night and swipe valuables, leaving a calling card behind them in the form of a steel music note."

The Praxian practically gawked at her in surprise. He knew of them. He'd read their old files. Her glittering yellow optics looked back in amusement. He didn't know what was more astonishing – that she associated with known ex-criminals or that the Nightdemon had never tried to hurt them.

Both Avioids cracked up. Dropout flew over to the small bar and started with his work with skillful agility and a friendly smile to anyone who approached. He was kind enough to slip the exasperated femme sitting there an extra cube of some pale pink Energon free of charge. The femme seemed appreciative of this generosity, giving him a genuine smile in return. Her opinions on mechs seemed to be turning around now that she was dealing with a mature one – even if he was a shameless flirt and a Predacon.

"Come on, come on!" Deadbeat cried. "You can sit with me and Dropper. Suppose you want your regular, Black Bird? What about you, hot rod? You want anything? I think we got some stuff from Praxus here somewhere..." He turned and called over to his friend: "Yo! Dropout! We got any more of that Praxian Fizz-Pop in here or do I gotta go on a supply run for it sometime?"

"No. I'm fine, thank you," the Praxian assured him, "Just fresh spring. I tend to avoid Energon with additives. As a cop working to arrest a crime boss, that's probably wise."

Realization dawned then: "Ah. Gotcha. Yep. Prob'ly smart. I'll go get that for you. Be right back. Table over there's free; ours. Be with you in just a klik. Or would you rather be left to yourselves?"

The look they shared told the Avioid all he needed. He grinned. Deadbeat transformed and flew off to join his friend. Sentenza and Counterforce went to the table in question, which was in a quiet corner of the club. The music shifted to a lively, lighter key tune. Some of the beast-formers and pseudo-beasts gave the Seeker nods or faint smiles. That seemed to further establish that she did not hold the Predacons or pseudo-beasts in fear or contempt as many others tended to. She defended them, was an ally to them as a whole. There were many things about her that fascinated him, but that had to be the most fascinating of all. It was almost like she held a kinship of sorts with them.

Before they could start conversing, Deadbeat flew by with the Seeker's "regular" and his own requested cube. Winking at them, he flew off. Sentenza saw him converse with Dropout. The two Avioids looked at their newest arrivals as they talked in low tones, optics twinkling. They were planning something. They both knew it. But they endeavored to ignore them. Whatever it was it was (hopefully) harmless.

"So? What've you been up to?" he asked. "Hot on the trail of Thunderhoof and his mechs?"

Sentenza smiled. "What else? Had a few odd cases I've been working on, too. Had a Kaonian come to me a few solar cycles ago asking me to help them find a friend of theirs. The weird part? When I did find them, they didn't know the one who'd sent me after them. Trip to a clinic showed he was suffering from a short-circuiting processor caused by what the doc _thinks_ was blunt-force trauma. Says not to quote him on that though. He didn't display some of the signs of that. Don't quite know what's going on there to be frank. Accident? Intentional? Some underhanded plot to keep me busy on cases other than 'Hoof ones? I dunno," She took a sip. "You?"

"Drug busting, mainly. Successful, each one of them. Managed to snag one of 'Hoof's distributors along with twenty of his workers the other evening. He's got lots more where that came from but hopefully we've managed to give him a warning, alongside cutting some of his funding. Every little credit counts."

They spoke for a while, enjoying the other's company and hearing what they'd been busy with. Topics went from work to personal health to funny instances from their youths. The cubes were soon half-empty. When the subject of her contact network came up, he drew to the question and admission he'd been meaning to tell her for some time now.

"Any word from Mourncall and Cipher?"

Something in the tone of that question made her eye him sharply. Oh, he hid it very well but the there was a sudden curious tension in his voice now. She answered slowly but truthfully:

"Kid's doin' alright. Mourncall thankfully hasn't been dealing with any more serial cases. Odd crash victim or some poor scientist who got sloppy in their work or their work decided to be the jerk. When he's not busy with bodies he kind of acts like an emergency medic. Cipher's proving very versatile. Helps keep the place tidy and he's actually picking up the trade pretty fast...Why?"

Counterforce's gaze dropped the stare at the table for a time. He looked distinctly guilty to her. That was surprising. Even more surprising was when he pinged her over private frequency and spoke to her that way:

[ _Because he, Mourncall, I mean, not Cipher_ _–_ _he...he knows about your condition. I told him during the Crystal City case. I can keep secrets, Sen'za, but when someone calls me out on it I feel obligated to answer. Lying when someone knows something is up is counterproductive at that point, not to mention insulting to their intellect. Mourncall keeps secrets better than I can. He swore an oath on the Allspark to me he would not tell anyone else. He told me that only "he, Primus, and the dead would know." Since you haven't been revealed I can only assume he's kept it._ ]

She stared at him, betrayed. Pain laced her restrained field, marred her once light-sparked expression.

[ _I trusted you...I trusted you to keep this a secret and you tell someone else? Just like that?_ ]

[ _Sen'za he_ _–_ ]

[ _I trusted you!_ ] She looked on the verge of tears.

She rose in a whirl and stormed for the door. Deadbeat and Dropout noticed and flew for her, trying to convince her to stay. She snapped at them, shooed them away as she swept out the doors back into the evening-shadowed street. Stunned, they drew back. Counterforce rose quickly, calling out her name in desperation. Realizing that was wasted energy, he followed her, cursing himself the whole while.

* * *

He found her around back of the establishment, legs hunched up close to her chassis. Her helm was hidden in her arms. Coolant was trickling down her faceplates and dripping onto the ground beneath her. Soft keening could heard coming from her vocalizer. Her field was now fully withdrawn into her frame.

Counterforce stood nearby for a moment, afraid he'd only make matters worse if he tried to get closer. In the end he approached and knelt by her, placing a hand on her perpetually cold frame. It was instantly swatted away with a vengeance, the Seeker snarling at him in her native dialect to get away from her. Her tear-stained faceplates bore testimony to the betrayal she felt had occurred. He looked back at her, hurt and guilty.

"Detective, I'm sorry. I should've asked your permission first, I know. But please, just listen to me for five kliks. Mourncall is a medic. They obey patient confidentiality. He won't tell a spark. You know that. And...maybe he can offer some advice or help on how to control your other personality. It's strictly between the three of us. I swear to you right now on the Allspark it won't go further. And if it ever does, I'll be sure to ask you first."

Some of the pain faded. She wiped away some of the tears. But she still looked hurt.

"Y-You were...trying to help me?"

" _Yes._ Hurting you is the last thing on my processor. You have enough pain to deal with as it is. I don't want to add to it. I'm trying to help lower it. Please realize that. Please _understand_ that. Even a little help can go a long ways – but you have to put your fear and pride aside to accept that help. Okay?"

She nodded. He held out a hand to her. The Seeker's hand reached out, hesitating at the last astrosecond. But in the end she accepted it and he helped her to her trods, albeit a bit unsteadily. Whether that unsteadiness was a result of the drink, the emotional turbulence, or a combination of both he couldn't say right away. He was a crime scene investigator, not a medic.

"Now. Do you want to go back inside and enjoy the rest of the evening or do you want to go back to your residence?"

"Let's head back in. I don't wanna worry Deadbeat or Dropout. They worry, y'know..."

* * *

"You better watch yourself, mech! Nobody messes with the Black Bird on our watch and gets away with it! You wanna go breaking a femme's spark or screwin' with her emotions you pick somebody else! You got that?!"

Deadbeat squawked and slashed with his talons at the Praxian in a relatively harmless display of protective fury. Some of the patrons hooted and hollered, egging the proprietor on. A few times the larger Avioid's talons connected with his upheld arms but they were nothing more than scratches that didn't even leak. He wasn't trying to hurt him. He was just giving him a warning. Dropout tried to draw him off with the suggestion that perhaps this had been nothing more than a misunderstanding. True Praxians never insulted femmes he reminded him calmly. Cultural thing. Seekers on the other hand were kinda like cats and took offense and stuff when that wasn't the case.

Sentenza shooed the Avioid off him with a wave of her hand.

"Cool it, 'Beat. Friends have complications. We had one. We're...good now, though. Really. Just an issue of trust."

Dropout smiled then cast a triumphant look at his companion. Deadbeat drew away but still cast him skeptical glares. Counterforce understood then that Dropout was the more relaxed of the two, the philosopher. Deadbeat was the bombastic bodyguard who didn't take, as Jazz would put it, "no nonsense from nobody." It would probably take a while to convince him he was in fact her friend again. He suspected that once he did he'd go right back to his insinuations, and judging by his rapid mood changes he suspected that wouldn't be very long.

They flew off towards a small stage. After conferring over some matter they flew up into an attic of sorts and came back down, Deadbeat with a drum and Dropout with an unusual looking photoharp-like instrument. The latter began tuning the instrument right away. The other patrons gave a few intrigued glances in their directions, talking amongst themselves. A few snippets of conversation made their way to the table the two friends were at:

" _Wonder what song they'll play..._ "

" _Loved the last performance. Sky Painters never disappoint..._ "

" _Too bad the Council's not as much a fan of 'em..._ "

"They're going to perform?" he asked her.

Sentenza took another sip from her cube before replying with a wink: "'Course. End of the deca-cycle. They always perform then. More patrons usually. They like an audience. That's over half the reason I brought you here. I think it might be for us. Cheeky boys like that. You ever heard Terran music before?"

"Well..." he said a bit hesitatingly, "Not really. You know how the politicians want to keep contact with Earth at a minimum for more than one reason. I'll admit a few harmless miscreants have been brought in because they've been caught with illegal downloads. Digital piracy and all that. I was curious enough to look at some of the files. What little I heard was very interesting. It's much more complex than ours."

She laughed a little: "You'll love this then. These boys have much better taste than those kids. Trust me on that. What you're about to hear is true music. Real treat for the audials. Even if it causes trouble. Slag the Council to the Pit. What's the harm in notes arranged nicely I ask you? But enough political nay-saying. We're here to enjoy the evening, not gripe about the idiots that be."

Dropout finished with his tuning. Turning to his companion, he winked as he held up three digits. Bobbing his head to the temp of the song ever so slightly, he dropped the three digits. A lively string of chords washed over the club, rapidly joined by a sharp drumming to keep the beat. The lyrics hadn't even begun when Counterforce found one of his digits tapping along. Then, of course, the singing started:

 _Skellige winds a' wild, a' wild_

 _Skellige winds a' wild._

 _Carry us on the tide, the tide,_

 _Conquer the hills and isles._

 _Oars in the morn and a tankard in the eve;_

 _Shores ever churn and the anchors ever heave._

 _Oars in the mo-o-orn...on the weather to weave._

The two Avioids flew off the stage and began flitting from table to table at that point. Sentenza was grinning broadly, tapping along to the beat with her pede.

 _Skellige winds a' wild, a' wild,_

 _Skellige winds a' wild._

They came to their table.

 _Up on the peak unite, unite,_

 _Tether and reconcile._

 _Borne through the storms, grant the rudders and oars relief,_

 _Forever warm, pass the mutton and pour the mead!_

They flew off, offering parting winks. The Seeker smirked and made a gesture with her hand as if to shoo them off. More likely she was telling them to knock it off.

 _Borne through the sto-o-orms...on the weather to weave._

 _Waves a'roarin', kindred on the sea,_

 _Sails a'soarin free-e!_

 _Waves a'roarin', war and revelry,_

 _Sails a'soaring free-e!_

The drumming went silent. Deadbeat's voice vanished along with it, thus leaving only the chords and solitary notes of the strange photoharp along with Dropout's much softer voice:

 _Winter's frosted hues,_

 _Painting Freya's breast,_

 _Sheltered in the womb, ever blessed..._

Once more the drumming resumed. The chords were much louder now, each Avioid immersing himself in the music.

 _Waves a'roarin, kindred on the sea,_

 _Sails a'soarin' free._

 _Waves a'soarin, war and revelry,_

 _Sails a'soarin' free!_

"Everyone! Come on! Let's annoy the Council cronies!" Deadbeat crowed. And so more voices joined the final chorus, Counterforce's among them:

 _Skellige winds a' wild, a' wild,_

 _Skellige winds a' wild!_

 _Skellige winds a' wild, a' wild_

 _Skellige winds a' wild!_

Cheers erupted around the club. Laughter soon followed it. The two Avioids high-fived and bowed, grinning.

Sentenza leaned back in her seat, looking at the golden and silver Praxian across from her with a new appreciation. "Your voice isn't half bad, nightlight."

To which the ever modest Counterforce smiled a bit sheepishly and averted his optics, saying he was nowhere near as good as the two professionals on stage. He did admit the song was very well composed. She laughed a much more genuine laugh at that. For once she paid no heed to the setting sun outside. Her optics never once strayed to the windows. Here, she was safe – and with someone who could keep her that way.

Of course she'd have to get back to her apartment at some point, but oh how she wanted this moment to last forever. So she contented herself to listen to more songs and converse with the Praxian opposite her until the twin moons rose, untroubled by the lengthening shadows.

* * *

When the moons reached the peak of their nightly arcs the two thanked the proprietors for a nice evening and exited out into the dark, moonlit streets. Both were smiling and continued to talk as they drove and flew back to the Seeker's residence. Try as she might to hide it though, Counterforce could tell something was still bothering her. But he didn't ask her. He didn't want to upset her again.

They stopped at the doors to the lobby.

"Thank you. Y'know, for coming. It-It helped." She massaged her arms from the nightly chill and a bit of awkwardness. "I've...I've never actually gone out with anyone before. It was nice."

The Praxian merely smiled and said he was glad she was feeling better. He'd enjoyed himself as well – despite her coaxing him into possible trouble. He'd endeavor to let that slide in this instance. And besides, it wasn't every solar cycle one got to see Sky Painters perform. Terran music wasn't banned per say; the Council just had reservations about links to Earth, no matter how indirect.

"Um..." she began. "You-You got a place to stay the night?"

"I could always hole up in one of the precincts or inns. Not a problem."

"No. I'm not gonna make you do that, not here. Kaon is a hotbed for Thunderhoof and his goons. With you actively trying to shut them down that's too dangerous. You can stay with me. Consider it my returning the favor for the good turn you did me in Praxus."

Counterforce managed a wry smile as he answered: "Alright, then."

Together they went in. The lobby was empty, dark, the lessor already out for the night alongside the other paying renters. Quietly they entered the lift and made their way into the Seeker's rooms. Nothing much looked different aside from data pads being scattered around on various flat surfaces, her stuffed panther on one of the chairs with a thermal blanket draped over the back, the lights being on dimly, and an empty cube of fuel near the chair the stuffed animal occupied. It was an area of both business and comfort.

"Um. I don't have a spare berth, but...uh...everything in here's free for use."

"It's fine. Really."

He made his way over an empty seat. He made himself comfortable and was soon unconscious. The Seeker soon fell under in the adjoining room, but her power down was not blank like it was usually was after speaking with Counterforce. The expression of the startled Enforcer plagued her the whole night, making her restless. No matter how much she explored Kaon in her dreams, no matter how she tried to hide, the body seemed to follow her. The nightmare grew too great at one point and she jolted away with a sharp intake of air.

She didn't fall back into power down for the remainder of the night. When Counterforce awoke the next morning he was surprised and disturbed to find her quietly working on case facts on a wall-mounted board with a haunted look in her optics.

"Nightlight...there's something I need to tell you..."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Phew! Long one-shot is long! Little bit lighter than the other stuff I'll be writing for them.**

 **Time wise Sentenza's had enough time to at least warm to him. She's just psyched he's actually visiting instead of just talking with her via comm's. She got to see some of his city and she's happy to show him hers. And in a kind of twisted, dark logic, she's psyched he's coming and there because it basically means no Nightdemon problems during his stay. She's not to the point of having true feelings for him yet; he's just a good friend to her. That takes time. ;)**

 **I'll touch more on the Council's attitude towards Earth in another chapter of this and another chapter of First Star. The fact that the Council seems to have cut ties completely with Earth and Unit E is...more than a little strange to me, as was their exile of Ratchet and hunting of Bumblebee. Because someone pointed out to me that Smoke would be under much more scrutiny in the position he's in. So would Magnus.**


	8. Chapter 7

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

Part 7: The Horned Crown Killing

 _This is a flashback one-shot mostly. Counterforce mentioned a weird case in an NotB chapter, so I thought I'd elaborate on it a bit here. Takes place later on down the road of friendship. Here, Sentenza trusts him much more than in the past. Dunno how many parts it might be. Too long to make it a one-shot. I think. We'll see._

* * *

" _So anything interesting happen today?_ "

"Heh. Not much. Sorry to disappoint. Life of a homicide investigator can be pretty prosaic at times. It's not all sensation."

Counterforce sat alone in the living space of his home in Praxus, leaning back in a seat with his pedes up on the low table in front of him. A half-empty cube of Energon sat beside his left pede. A few lights were on but not all. Outside the sun had already dipped below the horizon and the twin moons were slowly rising into the star-studded sky. Lights danced around outside as night workers set about their tasks, late leavers returned home, and some merely drove around in the crisp night air or relaxed in open venues, talking. He enjoyed nights in his home city, so he tried to take at least one or two night shifts per deca-cycle to help some of the rookies or transfers out. But he just hadn't felt like taking one this particular night. Aegis had let him go without protest, a knowing look in his optics and a smile on his lip-plates that he didn't even try to mask.

He'd been doing that a lot more of late, come to think of it...

At any rate it was nice to hear Sentenza sounded relatively calm. A few conversations over a dozen deca-cycles or so indicated she had been having a little more trouble than usual lately. The Nightdemon apparently did not appreciate being locked up night after night. They both tried their best to keep her caged, but they couldn't always manage. He did not live with her, and visits were rare. So talking to her on a private comm. line or the occasional live video feed whenever he had the chance was the most he could do. It pained him, but what else could he do? He couldn't be in two places at once.

" _What's the weirdest or creepiest case you've ever worked on, CF? Mine had to be the Mad Doctor case. You don't find sickos like that every solar cycle. Glad that creep's locked away on the Alchemor. Hope he never sees a planet ever again._ "

"Hmm. I-I may have to think on this one. Give me a moment. I've had quite a few odd cases, actually."

" _Take your time. I wanna hear whatever it is. You don't strike me as the kind of officer to be handed the dull cases like accidental mechslaughter and stuff._ "

"No, you're right on that. I take the, er, 'special' cases so to speak. The real mind-teasers. It's kind of turned into a system of 'Oh, you got a weird case?' being asked and then the answer being 'Send it to Counterforce.' I don't mind, really. Always employ the expert I guess. I-I would argue I'm nothing close to an expert, but...Anyway, strange cases have become a bit of a specialty of mine. I've come to like the challenge they give even if they can get a bit, erm, messy."

He thought for a moment in silence, recalling from old memory archives cases of particular strangeness. There were a few to pick from, but one stood out from the rest as being worthy of a re-telling. Not because it was horrific, dark, and baffling, and not because it was among his first cold cases he had worked as a younger homicide investigator – but because it had, despite him being assigned to it, never been solved. It stood as an open-ended case to this solar cycle, one of only a few that had never been solved by his precinct.

"Alright, I got one. Doesn't have an official case name but the 'bots at the precinct started calling it the Horned Crown Killing."

" _Oooh_ ," He could almost see her yellow optics widen in curiosity. " _Now that one sounds interesting. Come on. Tell me. What happened? What made it so weird?_ "

"Ah, a number of things, actually," Counterforce admitted freely, perplexity creeping into his voice, "The whole case was just...peculiar. Start to inconclusive finish."

And so, quickly reviewing the case in his mind, Counterforce began his re-telling:

* * *

 _FIFTEENTH PRECINCT, PRAXUS_  
 _THREE VORNS AGO_

At a desk in a small but neatly arranged office a young golden and silver Praxian sat. Only a few groons ago had he been promoted from a general crime scene investigator to a homicide investigator. Counterforce had been only too eager to accept Aegis's promotion – one of the only times he had accepted. It wasn't that he hadn't liked his former position, but he just felt more at home in this particular branch of the precinct. He felt he could do more, help more. And in a strange, rather dark way he enjoyed the puzzles investigating a murder provided. He liked gathering pieces and placing them back together to form a picture of what had occurred. In the lighter sense, he did not approve of murder and thus would do everything in his power to bring justice to the victim and the perpetrator.

He was just finishing up some of the work from his last case, which had been some sort of gang-based retaliation deaths – serial case. Gangs were not a massive problem thanks to Thunderhoof's monopolization of the criminal underworld but they did occasionally crop up. Some times it looked like criminals were trying to remove the crime boss from power, or infringe on some of his territory or holdings, while other times it looked like they were random in activity and target. It was an interesting subject he liked to study in his spare time. This last case had shown all too clearly the work of one of Thunderhoof's mechs, and the reason had been because the victims had been trying to infringe on his empire via the drug trade in a small-time way. Curious that the crime boss took even small threats to his power with deadly earnest...this ring had barely been turning a profit. Yet still seven of the ring of thirty had been attacked before the killer had been apprehended.

The Praxian's musings were interrupted when someone entered, the hiss of the door giving their entrance away. He recognized the fiery, active field without even having to see the mech: Flintlock. He was a dusty copper and red mech with some orange highlights on his limbs and a trusty ion pistol attached to his hip that he was never seen without. He had developed a bit of a partnership with him as a patrol officer himself. He was one of many friends within the fifteenth precinct. Counterforce looked up quizzically only for his dual-colored optics to widen. It was not often he saw fear in the other mech's optics, but here he saw what was close to horror. He rose in an instant. Something wasn't right.

"What is it? What's the matter, Flint?" He motioned for him to sit but he stayed fixed in the doorway.

"I'd tell ya to ask Mazerunner but I can tell ya the same," Still the horrified optics stared at him. "Almost think it might be better to just show you. Looks like somethin' in your new line."

Counterforce tilted his helm. Mazerunner was one of the new patrolmechs, very explorative and eager, but who also had an unfortunate tendency to get lost due to a glitch in his navigation systems the docs just couldn't quite fix. The suggestion that whatever it was the young mech had found was in his new line of work did not bode well. It indicated he might've stumbled across a murder scene, and Flintlock's expression indicated it might not be typical of such a scene. Something about it had scared his nearly fearless friend.

"Then show me."

Together they left the precinct – after informing Aegis they were going into the field. The Commander of the precinct nodded them on, half-buried in work of his own. He trusted the two to see to whatever the problem was, resolve it, and report back. Even if such freedom tended to annoy his own superior, he ignored it. Freedom in the ranks was a good thing in his opinion. He'd found it helped reduce friction and encourage cooperation among the different branches of his precinct.

* * *

Flintlock guided Counterforce out well beyond the main city center to a rather normal looking residential sector. Civilians passed by them on the road. Some offered greetings and waves, some silently observed them go by, while others just ignored them. Funny, Counterforce thought, there didn't seem to be any commotion. Perhaps Mazerunner and Flintlock had kept the scene under the radar? Odd if so. A murder scene required at least one homicide investigator and five CSIs on site to examine the scene for evidence. So why only bring one homicide investigator – him, an officer only recently promoted to the rank? That was beyond unusual.

' _What is it that Mazerunner found?_ '

He mused on this question as they pulled up to a dwelling where a single femme civilian who looked to be suffering from a bad shock was being tended to by Mazerunner. A once over and cursory scan showed the dwelling to be devoid of life. That could mean the place was abandoned or the owner was simply absent. Thinking back on Flintlock's horrified optics he rather doubted that was the case. There was something awful waiting inside, he just knew it. Bodies he was learning to handle but he was by no means immune to them, and he doubted he ever would be. It wasn't that the bodies sickened him (only mauled ones could claim that effect, and fortunately those were few and far between). No, he simply felt horrible about not being able to save a life.

"In there. Haven't touched a thing or messed about with anything." said Mazerunner.

The golden and silver Praxian nodded silent thanks for the clarification before he headed in with Flintlock at his side. The door hissed open to permit the two officers into a deceptively well-kept entryway hall. The place looked nice enough if a touch on the shabby side. Lower-middle-class, plainly, or perhaps someone who liked to live frugally. There was no sign of a body yet, but there was a distinctive smell of sour ozone that warned of spilled Energon. There was none in sight of them now, so it had to be a bit further in. They would neither of them realize just how much had been spilled until they stepped into the main living area, which was shielded from immediate sight thanks to the architecture of the entryway. Flintlock held him back for a moment.

"Ya might wanna brace yourself, Goldie," Flintlock warned him grimly, "This...it ain't pretty." Some of the horror in his expression returned. He looked like a mech who'd seen a ghost.

Counterforce nodded, remembering his expression when he'd come in. Whatever was in here was no ordinary murder but something far more horrific. They rounded the hall's corner into the main living area. And he froze, his optics widening as far as they could physically go. The sight before him and Flintlock was – gruesome didn't even come close to describing the scene that met them. It took all his will power and a hand over his mouth to fight the gag reflex that his body wanted him to do. He didn't need to look to his side to know Flintlock's reaction wouldn't be much different. This was something no officer in their entire career should ever have to see. And they were seeing it:

Lying in the center of the room was the single body so covered in its own Energon and so damaged that they could not even determine whether it was mech or femme, beast or non-beast. It was simply too damaged to be able to tell. The most horrific part about the corpse was not it's state as a whole but the state of its chassis. The victim's chestplates had been violently wrenched or split open by an instrument of some sort, and scrawled across the chassis in its own spilled fuel was a crudely drawn symbol neither of the officers had seen before. It rather resembled a pair of horns. Just looking at it made their meshes crawl uneasily and sent a cold chill down their backstruts. Beneath the body, mostly hidden but still partially visible, was drawn the same symbol dotted with unusual glyphs they did not recognize. The victim's last expression lingered on long after life had extinguished, a mask of agonizing terror marred by spilled fuel.

"Primus..." breathed Flintlock's fellow Praxian. "What in the world...?" He didn't even really know what he was looking at. Never, never had he seen something like this in his entire life thus far.

"Whaddya make of it? I only gave the place a look-see before bailin' to come get you. Mazerunner heard tell o' this from that civ out there. Poor 'bot was suffering from shock so he's been out there tryin' to calm the civ down. I think he only did a preliminary once over, too. Not really our place to go messin' with a murder scene. We're just patrollers."

A fraction of the golden and silver Praxian's fear abated as logic began to overwrite emotion. This was a crime scene the logic whispered to him. His emotions could have their turn later. He needed to analyze this place for evidence, get a sense of his surroundings. Maybe he could puzzle out what had happened here and thus find the killer. Still, he had to argue with the logic that this would be no easy solve. Not only was this the first killing of this unique print that he knew of, the whole place was in disarray.

"Flint, could you go report this to Commander Aegis? He needs to know about this. Tell him to send our ME, too. I'll start general analysis of the scene and see if I can help Mazerunner calm our finder down after if she doesn't show by then. Questioning can wait till we're all back at the precinct."

"Right."

The other Praxian made a quick retreat from the dwelling. Counterforce's emotional half frankly wished he would leave this place himself – but he did have a task to do, and this was his job now. Running from a job was not professional and certainly did nothing to bring justice to the poor victim in front of him. No one, not even a Decepticon, deserved to die in such a horrific manner. He wouldn't wish this on anyone, not even whoever was responsible for this death. So he set to work. The body he would leave untouched for the ME, Evac, when she arrived. He would analyze the scene itself. Sometimes a scene offered more clues than a body ever did or could. There definitely could be some here. There was a lot to observe. So he pulled a datapad from a subspace pocket and once more glanced around the room.

This time around he was more attentive to details his horror had made him overlook. The overturned furniture in the room hinted perhaps at a struggle between the victim and the killer. In particular he noted the main lounge table, a large, round table made of metal probably taken from the Manganese Mountains. That had been shoved to the side. Small pieces of furniture looked to have been violently flung aside, knocked over as if in a fit of rage. But that sort of blind rage didn't quite fit with the methodically drawn shape beneath the body. The symbol on the chest, perhaps. That wasn't so clearly drawn, more _scrawled_ ; the hand had not been so steady. Obviously the shape on the floor was done before. Following that thread of inquiry, he knelt to examine the shape under the body more closely. Most of it was obscured, but he could tell it was a far more elaborate version of the symbol on the chassis. The glyphs he didn't recognize even faintly, however – he'd need to get a linguist on that line on inquiry, possibly one versed in lost or old dialects. These did not match modern glyphs, at least not that he knew, and he knew at least the basics of every region's dialect except for the Predacon's language.

All of this he noted down in the datapad. Ageing of the body would have to be done by the ME. He had no tools to gauge the temperature of the victim's Energon, and if they'd been offline for more than a few solar cycles it would be slightly harder to determine time of termination. More detailed methods would need to be taken, such as removing and examining the victim's chronometer to see when it had stopped working. That counted as surgery and needed to be done in a lab, not in the field. Granted that was if the killer hadn't somehow damaged it beforehand or had simply ripped it out.

And, most peculiar to his mind, there was no sign of forced entry that he could see at hand. The door he'd come in had appeared fine. He had a suspicion the other points of entry might be similarly untouched. That indicated the victim might have let the killer in, i.e. they'd known the killer at least in some capacity. Or perhaps the magnetic locks had been override? But your average burglar was rarely a sadistic killer...

He took out a small spheroid device from a sub-space pocket on his hip. On letting it go, it hovered mid-air, blinking to life. He moved to the hall where he would be out of the way. The sphere's equator retracted and a broad pale red beam swept around the chamber four times. After the fourth sweep, the beam disappeared, the equator was once more covered, and the sphere began to blink with a green light. Counterforce returned to it and caught it in his hand just as it made to fall. Now he had a panorama of the crime scene with the body as a precaution against possible tampering.

"Ah, there you are. Flintlock said I'd find you in here. Busy at work, I see."

The Praxian turned to see Evac standing in the hallway-living area threshold. The femme Medical Examiner was a modestly built 'bot a bit past her prime with the alternative form of a helicopter, colored a rather striking red and white with some black accents on her legs and arms. As a medic who had served during the War she had centuries of experience backing her. Her crystal blue optics, sharp like an Avioid's, examined him and the scene with professional curiosity mingled with the same fright he, Flintlock, and Mazerunner had all felt.

"Just taking some notes on the scene. Didn't touch the body or move it. No one has. It's all yours now. See if you can put a time stamp on the poor 'bot."

Evac nodded and stepped towards the body at the same time as he stepped aside to give her more room to work. This drew him closer to an overturned end table where a splatter of dried Energon was found on the rim that looked like possible transfer stains of a hand as it slipped on the edge. He brought out a small field kit from his subspace and drew out a tool which he used to scrape a tiny amount off. This could be from the victim – or it might be from the killer. A struggle _had_ plainly taken place judging by the room's disgruntled state, and it had not been one-sided. The victim could have fought back, wounded the killer – and thus left them a clue. He stowed the tool and kit once more and set about with further searching of the room. The killer had to have attacked with a weapon to deal this sort of obscene damage to a chassis, and long gone were the days of integrated weaponry so commonly used in the War. Perhaps they had become careless and left the weapon on site. Or perhaps they had taken the weapon with them and disposed of it elsewhere. Of course, a Predacon was also a distinct possibility. They had in built weapons in the form of claws, beaks, and fangs, and they were also incredibly strong. He did not seriously harbor such a suspicion however. If a Predacon had come into a suburban neighborhood like this and attacked someone, the screams alone would've alerted half the neighborhood's occupants in an instant. Yet no one had known of the murder until the Finder outside had stumbled across it. He hemmed. He would need to question the civilian to see what it was they knew, as well as question some of the surrounding folk to see if they'd seen or heard anything unusual lately.

"Anything?" he asked Evac.

"Poor spark's been offline at least two solar cycles," reported Evac. "Femme. Energon's cold but there's still a touch of residual heat. Whoever killed the poor scraplet did a real number on them. I'll check her chronometer when we get her to my lab. Throat was slashed open with a sharp tool, pre-mortem. Looks like a large plasma knife did the trick, or something very much like a plasma knife. Spark chamber's been ripped open at the medial plate seam. A lot of primary fuel lines got ruptured in the process – that's probably where they got all their 'art supplies' from. Ventral coolant line was also ruptured it looks like. Also seeing some dents and dings on her body, pre-mortem from the looks of 'em. If they'd been done afterwards the metal would be more warped since the shock absorbers'd not be doing their jobs. That indicates a struggle took place. Can't tell right now if they're from impacts with furniture or fists. I'll need my lab equipment for that."

Counterforce shuddered. The sheer level of violence here was just...just mad. Thunderhoof and his goons were never this brutal. They treated murder more like a business. Bodies created by him were cleaner, never mutilated like this. This was not their doing, he knew that. This was far too brutal even for the crime boss. Someone else was responsible.

Evac rose a bit unsteadily after taking a few more notes. She pinged for her assistant and not-so-secret interest, Hoist, providing the coordinates of the far side of the room. He came within the breem, as shocked as anyone at the brutality of the scene before him. A hand flew to his mouth in horror. He also looked distinctly sick.

"Primus...what in the Pit...?"

"You can purge when we're done here," said Evac. "We need to get her to my lab. Help me get her up."

Hoist shook his horror off and gently helped Evac lift the ravaged body from the ground without disturbing the gruesome artwork beneath it. Evac took hold of her shoulder caps while Hoist took hold of her trods. They vanished into the groundbridge without delay, leaving Counterforce to finish up alongside Mazerunner and Flintlock. Taking one last look around the chamber he began a search of the residence in the dim hope of finding the weapon.

* * *

He found nothing of any real value until he entered the lifeless, empty berth room. There on a nightstand were a few holo-images of what he assumed were friends or loved ones. Zeroing in on the find, he plucked each up in turn. One in particular matched that of the Finder outside, both the vic and Finder much younger in appearance. Another showed the femme with colleagues after a night on the town. A third detailed a mini-bot sized mech a few helms shorter than his vic with distinct bear-like features, both smiling broadly. Not a Predacon; a pseudo-beast. The stamp at the base showed it was taken over in the Tagan Heights about fifteen groons go.

"Bond-mate, perhaps?" he mused quietly, examining the image, "Hm. I'll check around the clinics. Mechs coming in suffering spark-break are very uncommon. They'll definitely have records if he came in and didn't die immediately after she did."

A further search of the residence revealed no weapon.

His comm. link pinged then:

* _Hey, CF? Me and Mazey are takin' our finder back to the precinct. Don't think bein' near the body is helpin' her be any more coherent._ "

"Alright. I'll meet you there. Just wrapping up. I need to cordon off the area as well. Can't have civs coming in and messing with our crime scene. When you get there, could you ask Aegis to maybe send a guard to keep an optic on the place? I don't want to risk the chance of our killer possibly coming back and tampering with remaining evidence. Took a before-and-after panorama and I'll take another but I'd rather be safe than sorry."

* _Sure thing, pal. Flintlock out._ *

After stashing the holo-stills, the golden and silver Praxian made his way back to the main living area. Now that the body was removed it was time to take another panorama of the scene. Once more the little spheroid device was allowed to perform its sweep, and once more he moved out of the way. And once more it was caught once its task was complete. Just to safe, Counterforce also took a few single-view holo-stills of the odd symbol and glyphs on the ground. He reminded himself to get hold of a linguist. Reportedly there were some good ones in Iacon.

There was nothing more he could do here. It was time to go.

* * *

" _Whoa. Loving this so far._ "

Counterforce gave a wry smile.

" _So what happened next? Who was the Finder? Was her bondie dead?_ "

"Slow down, slow down!" he chuckled. "I'm telling you everything I and my colleagues did in chronological order. This was a very mysterious case. Answers don't come right away in those."

" _Well, don't leave me dangling by a fiber! Keep going! This is fascinating! This is unlike any modus operandi I've ever come across!_ "

He could've sworn he heard a few faints taps in the background. A brow ridge rose amusedly. He recognized that sound all too readily.

"...Are you seriously transcribing all this? Or are you just taking notes?"

" _Both._ "

His smile broadened. He shook his helm. He could've told her he could just provide her the case file if she wanted to look it over but he'd be revealing classified documents then. Much as he was coming to like her he wasn't willing to possibly get in trouble for her. Sentenza was brilliant in her own way. She wanted to jot down everything he said? Then she could jot down everything he said. If it kept her occupied this night then all the better to her. The Demon would be too busy note-taking to go hunting.

* * *

 _PRAXUS'S FIFTEENTH PRECINCT  
WITNESS INTERROGATION CHAMBER #1_

"...-thing you can tell us that might help? We need to find out who did this."

Counterforce came to the precinct's interrogation chamber (one of three) to find Flintlock, Mazerunner, and Aegis all sitting with a frightened, rather bookish looking femme with large blue optics. She wasn't all that much to look at in terms of open attractiveness, but her tears and her fright and her confusion had not abated at all it seemed. She was still suffering from emotional shock. On hearing the doors to the chamber hiss open all four gazed looked up and met his. The Finder looked confused on seeing him. Aegis on the other hand looked to have had a mountain lifted from his pauldrons.

Noting the lack of a seat for himself, he instead took a seat on the empty interrogation table. The Finder was looking at him strangely now, as if wracking her processor to place a name. Or maybe she was trying to peer past his visor to see his optics. Smiling a little, he retracted it so she could see. She started visibly, staring at him. There was fascination in her large blue optics, and the fear was a little less. The tears slowed. She wiped one away.

"What's your name, miss?" he asked politely.

"F-Folklore," answered the femme, still staring. "Junior Archivist." Her accent was a bit unusual, an odd sing-song lilt to it.

His posture became more casual. "And where are you from? Here? Elsewhere?"

"I work at the Praxian Annex. T-The annex to the Hall of Records in Iacon, sir. I was raised in Kalis, though."

Ah. That explained the accent then. Kalians had one of the most unusual voice-prints of their race, apparently sounding a little like the terrestrial Welsh people. Another interesting voice print were the Tyger Paxians and the Canyons Dwellers, who sounded much like the terrestrial Irish and Scottish people, and sometimes American Deep South. Kaon and Crystal City had distinctly British voice prints.

"I don't mean to dredge up more pain, but how do you know our vic? Friend? Colleague? Bond-Sister? What's her name?"

The tears began trickling out again. "Old Academy classmate. We were in a few classes together when we were younger, but we always stayed in touch. H-Her name's Inkblot. Degree in Historical Literature. She studied old pre-War texts, from the Golden Age and before. She worked at one of the old War museums as a curator, but she visited the Annex every so often to update or research texts. My degree was War History for a while until I switched over to Predacon Cultural Studies."

"Oh?" He folded one leg over the other. "Why did you switch to that? That's a pretty drastic deviation."

"I-I wanted to know more about their tribal heraldry. I thought it was pretty straight forward at first, but after going on an excursion to interact with some of the tribes I realized just complicated it was. Only a few tribes bear the exact same crests. Most have unique, individualized variations. The symbolism behind even a simple leg band is incredible. Depending on how many there are and on which leg they're located the meaning changes. And their tribal crests? I think the Well Guardians may have the simplest one. They just the old Predaking crest from before the Cataclysm," A small smile formed as she got her mind on her favorite subject. "I think the Sky Painters may have one of the most elaborate ones by far."

Counterforce smiled back, agreeing. He said that, as aerial performers, that was to be expected. He'd seen them perform once when they'd come through Praxus. Their crest really was elaborate. Beautiful, though.

He eased back onto the topic at hand:

"You say you two stayed in touch. How often did you communicate?"

She winced at the returning pain, but it wasn't as noticeable now. A sideways glance showed Aegis giving him a approving look. Flintlock and Mazerunner looked downright stunned, the former looking very near to grinning like an absolute idiot. They'd hardly gotten a few sentences out of her, absorbed as she was in her fear and grief. And here the nightlight was managing to get a slagging biography off her with hardly any effort at all it seemed! Holy scrap!

"We-We always comm'ed each other at the end of the deca-cycle to see how the other's work went. Swapped the occasional funny story. Griped about certain 'bots who annoyed us. Checked in on her relationship to see how things were going with them. Last I heard from her was the previous deca-cycle. S-She was talking about adopting a Foundling. When-When she didn't check in with me at the end of this deca-cycle – two solar cycles ago, I didn't freak out. Sometimes she missed and she'd call back the next solar cycle. But when the next solar cycle rolled around – today – and she didn't call, I tried calling her. When I got no answer after around twenty pings I really started to panic. Usually she answers after the third or fourth if she's busy with something. I didn't know her bondie's frequency so I came over from across town to check on her and...and..."

A gasping sob wracked her frame. She buried her faceplates in her hands. Aegis put a hand on her shoulder plating to steady her, Counterforce doing the same.

"Why? Why would someone do this?" she demanded shakily through her sobs, "Inky didn't have any enemies. Everyone liked her. I'll never believe Honorbound did this. He's not that kind of mech. It's in his name! He may look big and burly but he'd never hurt anyone. She always called him her big bear hugger. He would never –"

"Flintlock," murmured Aegis in a low tone, "go input that name into our databases and see if we can get a location on this mech. He wasn't at the residence. Means he's elsewhere. Job, probably." He turned to the femme. "Mind my askin' what field he worked in?" He did not speak aloud his suspicion that the mech might already be dead. Mazerunner's evidence from passerby hinted as much. Two solar cycles in which, presumably, he wasn't at his residence?

Folklore's helm snapped up to reveal her shocked, coolant-stained faceplates. "You don't seriously think he did this, do you?"

"No, no," Counterforce reassured her gently, "We here believe in the old adage of 'innocent until proven guilty.' We're just going to see if he's alright. He was bonded to her. If he survived the waveform reset her death caused we might be able to get some emotional information from him. He'd be able to tell what she felt just before..." He trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence and inflict more pain.

The femme nodded a little, revealing he had worked in one of the Heights' Energon refineries (that was where they'd met: the Tagan Heights) for a long time before moving here with her and taking up the work again. He was the sort of mech who enjoyed good, honest labor. Aegis thanked her for the information, and Flintlock rose and left the chamber, leaving Aegis, Counterforce, and Mazerunner to continue.

"You said she had no enemies. Was there anyone she didn't get along with very well?" asked Aegis.

Folklore shook her helm.

"O-Other than the occasional little snap at someone really rude, no. You meet rude 'bots no matter where you work. Fact of life. Most of the time a good snap from her set the 'bot straight, and they stopped bothering her."

The three mechs shared glances. Inkblot's correctional snaps, well-meant as they were, might be taken the wrong way with the right individual. One of those "rude 'bots" could have been far more dangerous under that rudeness.

"Thank you, Folklore," said Aegis. "We won't detain you any longer. You head on home, and I'll send a few patrollers to watch your residence. Mazerunner will be one of them."

She wiped away some more coolant from her cheeks. "T-Thank you, sir."

Mazerunner helped her to her pedes and led her out. After the door hissed shut, Aegis shot a bewildered glance at his youngest, newest homicide investigator. They didn't even have a suspect pool to work from on this case. The crime seemed completely random, uncalled for. All murders had a reason, no matter how random or subtle. No one was killed for no reason. How the Pit were they supposed to solve it? All they really had was the mutilated body of a historian and a bunch of strange, disturbing symbols drawn on her corpse and beneath her.

Counterforce did not return the glance. He was staring at the sealed door thoughtfully.

* * *

During his re-telling, the taps on the data-pad grown less frenzied in excitement. At this juncture in the story they were slower.

Idly he checked his chronometer to find it was 0245 hours. A small smile worked its way into existence. He had a feeling he knew why the Seeker's transcribing was less hurried now. His suspicion was confirmed when he heard a very faint thunking sound in the background. His smile only broadened. Exhausted mentally from her writing the Seeker's power down protocols were firing at long last.

" _Can you finish this story another night? I wann' know what happened..._ " she mumbled.

"Of course," he said. "I'm not about to stop here. It only gets more interesting. And confusing."

No answer came. But he could hear, just barely, the very soft sound of steady, tired air intakes. Her side of the comm. line suddenly shut off. He smiled and shut his off as well.

"G'night, Sen'za. Rest easy."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Yep. Decided this'll be a two or maybe three-partner. :3**


	9. Chapter 8

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

Chapter 8: The Horned Crown Killing Part 2

 _Note: In my head-canon Cybertronian days are much longer than Earth days. Earth is 24 hours. I like to think Cybertron is more like 36 hours or something. Means they can get more done in the span of a day._

* * *

Sentenza collapsed into a seat in her rooms, exhausted. It was nearing dawn outside. She'd just gotten back from another round of hunting, only this time the Nightdemon had not emerged. The Seeker herself had gone to one of Thunderhoof's many less-than-legal business over in the southwestern sector of the city, and she herself had taken out the small ring of weapon smugglers, injuring the ringleader and slapping a pair of cuffs on him. She'd pinged the nearby ninth precinct anonymously after cuffing each of the thirteen smugglers in turn. Much as the Demon had wanted to claw Her way out and deal with them permanently, Sentenza hadn't let her.

She was rather proud about that. Counterforce would be pleased with her.

Speaking of the humble Praxian cop, he'd promised to finish his cold case story with her. He'd started it a few nights ago but they'd each been busy with their own lives and so he had no had the chance to finish it. She knew last night had been one of the nights Counterforce took off to help the rookies on their patrols, or else Aegis simply told him to take a night off and treat himself. Primus, she wished the Praxian was here right now. They hadn't gone out together since they'd met at the Wild Wing Club. She smiled a little in pained recollection. That had been a marvelous evening despite the slight breach of trust. Counterforce had been upfront and honest about it though. No longer did she truly hate him for telling a licensed doctor about her problem. Mourncall had actually called her the other evening to check on her, see how she was doing, and get a little more data on the night code to see if he could devise a means of defense for her. They didn't communicate very often. Piece by piece he was building a file on her other half. Nothing of any real interest happened in the City of Savants. She remembered that conversation of theirs. Mourncall had been amiable about it:

" _Counterforce has told me a little about your problem as a whole, but could you elaborate a little?_ "

" _Um, sure. I mean, w-what do you wanna know?_ "

" _For starters I'd like a simile. What does it feel like during the day, and what does it feel like during the night? I want to get a feel for the interaction between you and Her._ "

She'd thought for a moment before replying:

" _Imagine this big dam in front of a river. I'm the dam, the river's the other me. I have to constantly keep that dam maintained. That river is constantly beating against that dam and building pressure and making cracks. During the day I can close them up pretty easy. I just need to keep calm. But at night those cracks have an easier time bursting open. And the river floods in. She takes control then. I'm nothing but an echo at the back of Her mind. In a way you could say I'm her conscience during the night and She's mine during the day._ "

" _Mm. Interesting. You and She coexist during the day, yet at night She wants control, and She'll fight you tooth and claw to get it._ _But if that's the case then Nightdemon attacks and killings would happen every night. That's not what reality shows. Nightdemon attacks are random, intermittent. The only pattern is in her victims and attack pattern. Is there anything different, any changes on those nights where you lose control entirely? Are there any differences on those nights where you succeed?_ "

" _Light. Light scares her, forces her back into hiding. That's why I use an ion lamp and never turn the lights completely off in my rooms. When Counterforce helped me that time in Praxus I could practically hear Her scream in pain. I've never heard Her do that before. She never howls at the lamp. She kind of just hisses and snarls like a wounded animal and retreats. Nights where I have an easier time fighting her are nights I've been out during the day or nights when both moons are out. If only one or no moons are out then She takes over with hardly any trouble. I believe that lunar pattern has been noted in Her file._ "

" _Aah-ha. Now that's interesting. A secondary personality that's fearful of light? Would you mind if I propose this to Cipher as a theoretical case? Perhaps we could devise something to better scare her or weaken her._ "

She smiled wryly. She'd told him this was strictly between the three of them, and the medical examiner had conceded. Mourncall hadn't struck her as a hobbyist psychologist but he had a bit of a knack for it, admittedly. He hadn't gotten back to her yet with a solution. She wished he would. She wanted a better way to fight her than just an ion lamp, a comm. link to someone thousands of klicks away, and sheer willpower. It just wasn't working well enough. The Seeker wanted a cure to her disease, not a bandage.

The Seeker sighed. Her exhaustion finally caught up with her. Her Predacon yellow optics dimmed and shuttered.

* * *

Counterforce took a seat in his lounge and kicked his tired pedes up. He was smiling to himself in a tired but satisfied way.

Training new patrollers was always something he enjoyed. Most of them were young 'bots full of energy, but some were more controlled. He did also enjoy visiting with his friend Flintlock. But truthfully he enjoyed speaking with the Seeker as well. He felt rather bad he hadn't been able to contact her a few evenings ago. Her comm. link had been disabled for some reason. He'd taken that as a bad sign. The Nightdemon could have taken control once more. The smile faded, replaced by a darkly thoughtful, pained frown. He shook his helm with a sigh. He hadn't heard of any deaths over there, so maybe that was a good sign. Maybe she'd restrained herself this time around.

' _Primus, please. Keep her safe when I can't._ ' he prayed silently.

He wanted to help her but he had no idea how he could if he wasn't there with her. He seemed to be her only real support system and here he was thousands of klicks away, only able to communicate with her via personal frequency or vid comm's whenever he had spare time.

Well, in any event he had a promise to keep. He could make up for not being there for her by occupying her once more with his story. He was a mech of his word. So he opened a channel to her while trying to remember exactly where he'd left off. He was pleased when the ping was accepted without delay, almost eagerly.

" _CF! Hi! What's up?_ "

He chuckled softly. She certainly didn't sound upset. She sounded alert, alive. That was a good sign. If she had killed someone she wouldn't sound so upbeat.

"I'm a little tired but otherwise I'm fine. Spent most the late afternoon and early evening with some of the patrollers. Flint noticed I was a bit distracted this evening so he told me to head home. We're friends. I trust him to keep an eye on his own branch. He is in charge of the patrollers. Their branch and mine have a bit of a relationship. Most of the time its through civilians or patrollers that we homicide investigators hear of murders or foul play. Speaking of which – you'd like to hear the rest of the story, eh?"

" _Of course! Hang on, hang on. Lemme go get the data pad I was using. One klik,_ " There was a pause as the Seeker went to retrieve the item in question. " _Alright. Got it. Fire away!_ "

* * *

 _FIFTEENTH PRECINCT, PRAXUS  
MORTUARY  
Later in the solar cycle..._

Counterforce gave a light tap to the doors of Evac's mortuary. The doors hissed open to reveal Evac herself was carefully digging into the mutilated corpse on the table with a set of instruments. Hoist lingered off to one side, still looking distinctly sick to his tanks. The golden Praxian sympathized. Even he admitted his own queasiness at the body on the table. Only Evac was spared due to her experiences during the War. She had seen this sort of violence before.

"Anything?" he asked after a bout of silence.

Evac seemed to ignore him for a while. She carefully used a set of long, sharp pliers to remove nerve bundles and circuits from the victim's open cranial cavity. Now that the body was cleaned he could get a better look at what had once been Inkblot. Not a bad looking femme. A bit wiry but with a certain sharp beauty to her. She did resemble a young, stern, bookish femme. Why anyone would violently murder and mutilate a harmless museum curate was beyond him. She seemed like the last femme in the world to have been murdered. Innocent. There didn't seem to be a reason for this crime. But no crime was without reason! That was a universal constant.

Eventually she seemed to find what she was looking for and brought out a small addition to the processor that resembled a tiny, hyper-advanced digital atomic clock from Earth. No longer did its feed display the passage of time. It was frozen now. Unchanging.

"Hmm," hemmed Evac pensively as she held the device nearer her old optics, "Well, this does narrow down when she met her end. Chronometers can still give readings even if the user is tossed into a singularity. So long as no massive amount of physical trauma or a virus damages it the thing will keep registering the passage of time right up to the moment the poor spark snuffs. According to this our vic here met her end at 2039.274 hours on the day of her death, meaning she died roughly seventy-two hours ago."

"Two solar cycles give or take," Hoist surmised quickly, "Squares with what Folklore told us. Inkblot didn't report in to her friend like usual two solar cycles ago. Met her end in the early evening according to the chronometer."

Counterforce's brow ridges furrowed in perplexity. "Odd. Folklore didn't mention whether or not Honorbound worked day or night shifts. This seems to imply he worked the latter. Or perhaps he just did some overtime that solar cycle? Her description of him makes me think he might've been the sort to do that. I'll go check with Flint and see if he found our missing half. Anything else you can tell me about her before I go?"

Evac gestured to points on the body as she spoke:

"Slash wounds on anterior neck cable were targeted on the _a'lik tmeo_ line. Definitely caused by an energy blade of some kind. Meant her to leak badly. The strikes weren't what downed her, though there is a pretty significant dent on the posterior cranial armor. Didn't breach the armor plating though. That blade's what did the trick. She leaked out in only a breem or so. She wouldn't have been able to move due to system shock. Medial plate seam and spark chamber were wrenched open immediately after she fell – while she was still alive mind you; that was revealed with examination of the processor – while there was still a good amount of Energon pumping through her lines. My guess is that's when that first symbol and the glyphs on the floor were drawn."

"Smears at the scene indicated she was dragged, yeah," agreed the golden Praxian, "Not very far though. Only a few paces. And that symbol and the glyphs were a lot clearer than the one on the chassis. Sharper. Indicated a much steadier hand did the floor artwork."

Evac grunted slight annoyance at the interruption but kept going:

"No claw marks or scrapes around the medial plate seem. A Predacon or pseudo-beast can be wiped off your list. I did find a small amount of paint around that area. Flecks really. Still in analysis. We might have something in the system. Kills like this are rarely a first. Examination of her pre-mortem dents did not reveal any foreign paint. It did reveal the elements vanadium, manganese, chromium, and tungsten. Those match metals commonly found in household furniture. Makes me think the killer pounded her with her own furniture to try to render her unconscious. When that failed to bear easy fruit, out came the plasma knife."

"And what about that sample of Energon I gave you for analysis? Vic's or killer's?"

"Vic's. That transfer stain probably happened after the killer slashed her. After the slash she instinctively put a hand to her neck to try to stem the flow, and when she tried to keep herself upright it came in contact with the end table. Inkblot just wasn't built strong enough to really hurt anyone enough to make them leak. She's not warrior class material. Whoever our killer is most definitely might be warrior class. Doesn't narrow your suspect pool down any but it's a start at the least."

Counterforce nodded. The killer was unspeakably violent in their methods, yet also careful enough not to leave behind evidence that might implicate them. That paint sample she'd found might be a slip up on the killer's part or it might be from something else, someone else, entirely. It would need to be dated. He really hoped it wasn't Honorbound's. Folklore had described him as a decent mech. He also had to hope the mech was still online. He had a sinking suspicion they would find he had already met his end around the same time as Inkblot. He had not been at the residence, and he had not returned to it.

Requesting she update him about that sample of paint in analysis the golden Praxian left the two to finish.

* * *

"With me so far?"

" _Yep. This is really weird. A violent killer who's also apparently cautious to a fault_ – _and talented enough to go drawing freaky symbols and glyphs on the floor in the fuel of their victim. That's not a profile you see in regular crooks. Find that most often in psychopaths. It's funny though. Sociopaths are generally the more careful and they also have a sense of right and wrong even if their moral compasses are skewed badly. Psychopaths don't give two slags about what they've done. They're cold-oiled killers._ "

"Agreed."

" _You find the bondie? Was he alive or dead?_ "

"Oh we found him alright...Or rather Flint did."

* * *

Counterforce was on his way through the lounge to speak with Aegis when Flintlock flagged him down from across the room as he came in from another connecting hallway. He looked troubled. Uh oh. That wasn't a good sign. He went over to him.

"Yeah? What'd you find on Honorbound?"

"His body."

Slag.

"Called 'round to a coupl'a clinics in the area near refineries. Asked it anyone had come in or been brought in due to spark break. One answered yes. Eyewitnesses said he'd collapsed one solar cycle at work for apparently no reason, in pain to the point of nearly screaming the place down. He'd been working overtime into the early evening. Medics got to him in time and brought him in. Put him on life support. Wasn't enough. Guy slipped away yesterday. The reset was too violent."

Slag.

"He didn't say anything useful while on life-support? Was he conscious at all?"

"Slipped in an' out randomly, never for more than a little while. Mostly mumbles."

"That doesn't help us much. She couldn't get a message off to him busy as she was trying to survive. Also means the struggle between vic and killer couldn't have lasted for very long. Fight was one-sided. Evac's examination of the body supports that. Inkblot was probably taken by surprise, and Honorbound knew she was dead the instant his spark reacted like it did," He sighed then. "We have no suspects, Flint. No solid evidence either. How are we supposed to figure this out?"

Flintlock shook his helm with a sigh of his own: "I dunno, mech. I dunno. This case is just...wrong. Weird and wrong. I really hope we're not dealing with a serial case. That drug ring one you helped solve is enough for the stellar cycle."

They were silent for a while. None of this made sense. Who would attack a museum curate who, from all indications, was an innocent as a new-built? Who was disturbed enough in the helm to mutilate the body to such a horrifying extent? Honorbound was no longer a suspect anymore. He was dead. They were back to square one. There was always the option of checking with museum security to see if anything might be gleaned from that angle or asking fellow workers at the museum to get information from them. Someone had to have heard or seen _something_ there.

"I'm gonna go have a word with the civs in the area and see if anyone saw anything unusual that night. You wanna come with? You got a real knack in getting civs to talk."

"Sure. Something to do while waiting for Evac's analysis I guess. Remind me when we get back to have a word with Aegis. We need to get a translator on those glyphs. Those might give some clues as to the purpose of the crime. There are some real good ones in Iacon apparently."

The gun-slinging patroller agreed that he'd be sure to remind him. Together the two made their way to the groundbridge chamber. The lead technician in the chamber, a stiff, militaristic mech by name of Circuitbreaker, sent them on their way with a crisp salute. Once the portal closed he resumed his pursuit of the latest groundbridge and spacebridge developments from Crystal City. When it came to creating stable wormholes it was best to stay on top of the game.

* * *

Folklore lived on the opposite end of the city, closer to the Annex where she worked. A bit of a crowd had formed outside in the streets and on the walkways, consisting of concerned neighbors and friends and a few curious passerby. Mazerunner remained on guard at the front entrance, keeping the latter from gaining admittance. Only close neighbors were permitted past the doors, and only one or two at a time – and only after he got a little information about them and the night in question it seemed. Counterforce nodded approval. Good mech. Folklore would benefit from their condolences but he wasn't going to let her get mobbed, and he wasn't blindly trusting. None of them knew these 'bots.

On spotting his fellow officers he waved them closer.

"Neighbors or friends got anything useful to say?" asked Counterforce in a low voice.

"Not really. Which kinda sucks," said Mazerunner. "They've allowed me to listen in on conversations inside via short-band. Folklore gave her permission. Makes things a little less stressful, you know? It _is_ eavesdropping but no one seems to mind too much. Most I've got out of it is that while Inkblot occasionally got trouble from some 'bots she was also pretty socially suave. Likable femme from all accounts, and very intelligent. Squares with what Folklore told us."

"Damn. Any descriptions of those trouble making 'bots by chance?"

"Nope. But one civvie swore she heard an engine outside Inkblot's residence on the night in question, but it didn't sound like Honorbound's. Quieter, so quiet the civvie's ready to swear she imagined it. Funny thing is, she's a recent Guardian, so her senses are all amped up to better protect the kid. Unfortunately she was busy helping the kid learn to transform so she didn't rush to the window to look."

Better and better. This case made no sense. No sense at all

"The museum she worked at is bound to have security feed. It had to have caught _something_ at some point. I'll check there. If you're good here with Flint?"

Mazerunner assured that with him, Flint, and the other two patrollers 'round back they could manage to keep Folklore safe. If the killer came here to try and tie up loose ends they'd be ready for 'em. Neighbors might also be more on the lookout for suspicious characters in the area. No way this creep could slip past them.

"Alright then. Take care, guys."

Transforming, he drove off. He didn't get even a quarter of a klick down the road when his comm. link pinged:

* _Don't forget to tell the boss. Remember_ – _translator._ "

He nearly chuckled. Bless that Flintlock. He always kept his word.

* _Thanks, Flint. Keep the other patrollers in line. And no shoot outs, you hear me? Last thing Folklore needs is a trigger-happy gun-slinger shooting anything that moves, and then finding out said movement was just someone's pet turbo-fox. That means a complaint and a lawsuit._ *

He heard the other mech groan on the other end.

* _Aw, shut your yap. You know I hate stake outs._ *

* * *

Counterforce decided to drive to the museum despite it being across town. The driving gave his processor time to mull over what little they'd found so far. He might as well start mentally writing up the case file, even if there wasn't much to add to it.

Their victim had been a young curate at one of the museums who was close with an archivist at the Praxian Annex, with a degree in Historical Literature. Inkblot had been a touch on the snappy side to rude 'bots but then who wouldn't be? On the whole she had been a fun-loving, hard worker of a femme. She had been bonded to a big, burly but kindly pseudo-beat at least fifteen groons ago named Honorbound when she'd gone to the Tagan Heights, and they had gotten along beautifully from all indications. No trouble in that regard. They'd even been discussing adopting a Foundling, starting a real family unit. They were a normal, hard-working pair of 'bots who took their work seriously but enjoyed time with friends. There was nothing to suggest anyone would have any reason to violently murder her, mutilate her body, and draw odd symbols and glyphs beneath her and on her chassis in her own fuel.

' _This...none of this adds up. Why murder her? For that matter, why mutilate her? And those symbols. Those symbols were...wrong somehow. Bad feeling from them._ '

When he'd seen those symbols he'd gotten a distinct chill in his backstrut, like someone had walked over his grave. Flintlock had felt the same. Something instinctive, buried deeply in his core coding, had told him to stay from those symbols and glyphs. He didn't quite understand that reaction. True, they were were part of a particularly vicious murder scene – but that was no reason to give him that sort of response. So what was there about them that might illicit that? Surely not recognition. He had not recognized the symbol on the chassis and floor nor the glyphs. A translator was needed desperately. They might be able to clarify things. But one thing a time he reminded himself. It was no good getting overworked or muddled by trying to do ten things at once. Patience, caution, and organization was what really solved a crime at the end of the solar cycle. Rushing to get a conviction was a bad idea. That was how innocent 'bots got jailed while the real criminal walked free.

The institution where he was headed detailed the city's War and pre-War history, and there was a memorial there to commemorate one of the most horrific acts perpetrated during the early days of the War: the Praxus Slaughter. Made sense she would work there considering her degree. Many things had been written about the act and the War itself, some written by the spare few survivors of the Slaughter.

He'd see if he could get some actual evidence from the museum. Evidence at the crime scene had indicated the killer had been permitted entrance or had somehow gained entrance in another, sneakier manner more suiting of a burglar. Either a mild acquaintance of Inkblot – perhaps even a student or museum visitor she'd wanted to help – had been let in, or else they were dealing with a new, dangerous criminal on the streets.

One who might very well strike again.

* * *

" _This just keeps getting better and better!_ "

"Only you can manage to sound excited about a crime re-telling, Sen'za."

" _Shut up and keep going!_ "

The mech managed a faint laugh as he told her: "Alright, alright. Primus. Calm down. You not even a _little_ bit tired yet? Luna-1 is up."

" _Getting there,_ " she admitted with less energy in her tone, " _And it's not even been up that long._ "

"You _do_ realize I have work tomorrow morning, right? If it's all the same to you I'd rather not be up till dawn."

" _Oh, fine. But come on. Just a little more? The result of the paint residue analysis at least? Pleeeaase?_ "

It took little imagination to see the Seeker's yellow optics soften as she tried to coerce him with a puppy-dog look. He smiled.

"Alright. That came while I was on my way to the museum in any case. That's a good spot to stop for tonight, I think. We couldn't get hold of a translator or a warrant for a couple of solar cycles anyway."

" _Thank you!_ "

He smiled and continued on:

* * *

The building before him was nothing spectacular but it was certainly quite impressive for its medium-scale size. A few artistic embellishes of grand Golden Age architecture gave it a more pre-War feel that fit with its purpose. This place honored the past. A short series of steps lead up to the building's front entrance. This was an institution dedicated to preserving the past in order to prevent the past's mistakes and misdeeds from being repeated. He sighed a little as looked up at it. His expression became thoughtful, pained. His mind wandered from the present into the past, the past that many veterans still remembered as strongly as if it had happened just yesterday.

' _All those lives lost during the War. And policy brings up almost right back to square one. At least the caste system is gone for good. Not like that makes any difference to the Predacons. I just wish all those poor sparks hadn't needed to die in near vain. All that pain, all that death_ – _and in the end it seems wasted._ '

Damn politicians. Everything the Prime had worked for, everything both sides had worked for – reduced to dim hopes that rarely if ever made it off a politician's desk.

Shaking his helm, the mech made his way towards the steps. At the same time his pede met the first one his comm. link pinged. Taken unawares, he jumped. But on noting the frequency he opened the link immediately. He started to head up towards the door.

"Evac? Talk to me. What did you get?"

* _Just finished analysis on those paint flecks._ *

"And?"

* _It's base paint with some microscopic metal flakes. Perfect you might say. Cops always take base paint samples from repeat and first-time offenders so there's gotta be something in the system. But I got n_ _othing. Whoever's paint this is it's not in our system. I even checked it against samples from other cities_ – _and believe me that took some wire-pulling. No matches. Nothing in the system. Which unfortunately means they were either never cataloged (might be evidence of crime boss corrupted cops or else bad management) or_ –*

Counterforce's dual-colored optics widened at the implication. He nearly tripped over the last step.

"We got a new offender on our hands."

* _Mmhm._ *

He hesitated at the top, processing the terrifying concept.

"Well...well, input it now. I'm praying to the Primes this doesn't happen again, but there's always that chance. Some criminals commit a crime and are content with that. They never stick their neck cables out again if they're not caught the first time. Others...they don't settle for just one crime. Or one kill. We better pray our killer fits into that first category. Frankly I'm not sure if I can handle another body like that."

* _Seconded._ *

The line went dead. It was all Counterforce could do to keep his expression neutral. Worry started his processor whirring and his spark pounding. He took a few slow, calming intakes of air. Panicking would do no one any good. And so he headed inside.

* * *

Inside, the building was more detailed in its design. Sconces on the walls and embedded lights in the ceiling burned in varying degrees of brightness depending on where one was or what was being displayed. In the middle of the main entry hall was a statue of a defenseless Praxian defending its sparkling charge from a looming Decepticon, hands holding back the blade-holding hands of the attacker. Further in there were holo-stills of Praxus from before the War, before the Slaughter, and histories and accounts of certain veterans who hailed from the city. A spattering of curators wandered the building alone or in small groups, keeping everything in order and awaiting questions from curious visitors.

One such passing curator noticed him and gave him an odd look. Owlish would be the best way to describe the other mech. Owl-mech came over to him with his curious expression still dominant.

"Can I help you, officer?" he asked. His large, inquisitive optics blinked.

"I hope you can. Did you know Inkblot? She worked here. Another curator."

The owl-mech smiled. He didn't seem to catch his past tense word.

"Know Inkblot? Who here doesn't? Not in charge but she practically runs the place. Femme knows her subject like the back of her own hands. Always loves to answer questions put to her by visitors. The rest of us do the same but she has this...she gets so _into_ it. You might be excused for thinking she'd been there for some of those old events. Immersion – that's the word. She doesn't just give facts. She tells a story, immersed herself and anyone listening," A pause. "Why? Is she okay? She hasn't shown up for work for a couple days. She's done that sort of thing before and showed up on the third solar cycle."

"I don't know how to tell you this," began Counterforce slowly, "but...she's dead. She was found murdered this morning when Folklore went to check on her."

He hadn't thought it possible for the owl-mech's optics to grow any larger. They did, widening in shocked horror.

"Murdered?" whispered the other mech, " _Murdered?_ But...but why? How? Everyone liked Inky! I mean, sure she could get a little snappy with people who were rude or disrespectful but only a real doormat wouldn't! Who in the name of Alpha Trion would kill a museum curate?"

"We have a pretty good idea of how. As for why...we're not doing that great. We have no suspects, inconclusive evidence – not even a possible motive. We've drawn a complete blank so far. That's why I came here. I was hoping I might get some more information about what went on here, who Inkblot interacted with. Everyone we've met so far has told me that Inkblot was friendly and got along with everyone, but she had a tendency to get snappy or short of temper with 'bots who were 'rude'. You added to that just now – 'disrespectful' people she also got snippy with. Did you see her become that way with anyone?"

"Well, no. I mean, I'm one of the new curators. Transferred over from Yuss only a groon ago. Used to work at the Amprodome over there. It's such a tiny little city we don't even have a Council representative. I wanted to get out and see more of the world. So here I am. The others though – they've been here way longer than me. Go talk to any of them, or better yet the chief curator Wordwise. He's on site. Dunno where he is off hand. Could be in the archives down below. Likes to hang out there. Check his office first. If he's not there, come get me and I'll take you down."

Counterforce nodded. Good plan.

"Thank you, erm – I never did get your name?"

"Oh! Sorry. I'm Nightowl. I-I usually work the night shifts here, but I decided to come in during the day today. Place is a little less creepy then."

Thanking him again, the golden Praxian made his way to the head curate's office. Luckily he found him there. He was a big mech, well-built, but with a distinctly academic look to his faceplates. A transparent visor of pale silver permitted his pale blue optics to shine through and see the words on the old data pads on his desk more easily. When the mech didn't look up on hearing him enter, he rapped lightly on the door frame. Wordwise started, the visor retracting. His optics were an old model rarely in common use anymore, like old camera lenses. They focused on him a bit shortsightedly.

"Oh, my! Officer Counterforce? What brings you here?"

He told him. He then told him what he was after. Wordwise nodded, gaze saddened.

"Ah, Inkblot, yes. She was a fine curate here. One of my best. There are only a handful of 'bots here with her level of enthusiasm for the subject. She wasn't just a historian, officer. She was a story-teller. The way she re-told events from the War and read some of the old battle reports – one might be excused for thinking she'd been a part of it. She became so absorbed in it that the present time seemed to fade around her. She could see the flashes of the grenades, hear the firing of artillery and the screams of the frightened and battle-crazed, smell the sour ozone of the dead's spilled fuel. It does make you wonder if she _had_ been there – in another life. I wonder. I very much wonder sometimes...There are stories of the fallen returning with their memory mostly intact, after all..."

Counterforce got the curator back on topic before he could wax philosophical: "Did she have a disagreement with anyone lately? Anyone she didn't get along with or got snappy with due to rudeness of disrespect?"

"A few times, yes. She was a very defensive femme. The issues arose mainly from rambunctious youths from other cities who have no appreciation for the past. On one or two occasions they arose from past or present Decepticons who still feel a touch of cruel pride over the Praxus Slaughter. I don't see why mass murdering a city of 'bots who wanted no part in the War is something to brag about, personally. I do remember some time ago – we never filed a report – an unknown individual or individuals scrawled some very disrespectful glyphs on the statue in the main hall. Inkblot was very upset about that. Furious, to be truthful. We never did find who did it."

"Anyone come by asking her anything unusual?"

Wordwise hemmed as he tried to remember. Theirs was a rather humdrum existence. Museums weren't exactly gladiatorial arenas or police precincts. They saw very little excitement. But...ah! Yes. Something ignited in the back of his processor.

"She did come to me one solar cycle asking if she could borrow some of the old data pads stored in the subterranean archives. Said someone was curious about old dialects from before the War – long before it, during the Silver and Steel Ages. I helped her look through the archives for a sample of what she wanted. Only found a few lines of the old dialect she was after, none of it translated. Data pad was labeled as only 'in need of translation.' She asked me if she could borrow it to show to the questioner. Come to think of it, I never did get it back..."

The golden Praxian's brow ridges furrowed. Odd. He hadn't found a missing data pad from the museum archives in the femme's residence. Did that mean the killer still had it? What for?

"You have security footage of that meeting between them? When did she ask you this?"

"I expect we might have," said Wordwise. "Admittedly some areas are not covered visually, only with motion detectors. There is almost nothing here of value to a prospecting thief, so why would we outfit every spot and angle of the building as if it were a maximum security prison? Our doors are open to anyone who wants to delve into the past, to understand it. As for when she asked me this question and we searched for the unusual data pad...I should say about a groon ago. I'm sorry I can't pin a more accurate time span for you, officer. If I'd known what it would amount to..."

"If I asked for a warrant to have a look at the building's security feed from around that time, would you accept?"

"Of course. Anything for Inkblot. If you don't mind my saying so I'd give you access to the security feed even _without_ the warrant. This murder cannot go unpunished."

Quickly pinging Aegis with another request, he left Wordwise looking after him with a grieved expression. Aegis was quick to ping him back and say he had Prowl on hold at the moment, so he'd mention the warrant to him.

* * *

"Alright, missy. I kept my word. Now it's time for you get to some rest."

A groan of annoyance came from the other end. He was pleased to note it did sound tired.

" _Fine._ _You better finish this the next night I call you about this, okay? I wanna know the ending!_ "

"Even if there is no ending?"

" _What do you mean?_ " asked Sentenza sharply.

"Never mind. I'll talk to you at a later date, okay? And I'll finish the story next time. Promise."

He heard the Seeker sound ready to issue another groan of annoyance. Instead a little chuckle escaped her vocalizer.

" _G'night, Goldie._ "

"Night, Sen'za."

The line was severed. In one dwelling the lights went out. In another they dimmed but remained on.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Muahaha. Next time's the finale of this story. This one crime story I'm writing without a proper ending. No crooks in cuffs, no jail cells, no trial. It's a fact of life that some criminal cases are never solved and remain cold cases years, even decades or centuries after the crime was committed.**


	10. Chapter 9

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

Part 9: The Horned Crown Killing Part 3

* _The end of this case. So this is gonna be a bit longer._

* * *

" _Okay, nightlight. Keep your promise. You're finishing that story tonight. Tomorrow is your solar cycle off. We got all night._ "

That was the first thing the Praxian heard on accepting the private communication this hot evening. He smiled, shook his helm, and wondered why and how he had fallen so badly for a femme like Sentenza. Oh, yes. He was admitting that now. The mech was too honest with himself to be in denial for more than a lunar cycle or two. He was patient. She was persistent. He was calm, logical, and sensible on and off work, never letting anything truly ruffle him. She on the other hand often let her emotions do the talking in her life. He stayed within regulation while also being very politically liberal for a rule-abiding Praxian. She had a tendency to bend the rules or break them outright. It was a mystery to him. Sentenza was as opposite from him as day was to night. Yet here he was attracted to her like a willing magnet, happily stumbling into her trap like a blind glitch mouse into the paws of a waiting cyber-cat.

"You've never heard the old adage of patience being a virtue, have you?" he chuckled lightly as he took up a post in the middle of the main living area.

There was an impish, mischievous undertone when she spoke: " _Oh, no. I have. I'm just being impatient because I want to know the ending. And because I know it annoys you a little. You're fun to annoy. You have this funny habit of sighing and becoming like an old, disappointed Guardian when you're annoyed._ "

How? Why? What in the names of the Primes drew him to her? And was the Seeker even aware of the attraction he held about her? He sighed a little a shook his helm. A bit of discouragement bubbled in his spark but he forced it down.

' _Ah, blast it all to the Pit. I won't say anything until she does. That's only courteous. I may be interested to no end in her, but she may not be. Both must be in accordance before courtship begins. No good comes from rushing a relationship. If she's happy for us to be friends for the foreseeable future, then that's that._ '

He drew himself from his thoughts and asked: "You got your data pad?"

" _Yep._ " answered Sentenza.

"Well then. I'd best started, shan't I?"

* * *

 _FIFTEENTH PRECINCT, PRAXUS  
_ _AEGIS'S OFFICE  
_

 _The next morning..._

 _"..._ –cilor. We've found nothing yet that would indicate why our victim was murdered and mutilated...Because my precinct is of the opinion that whoever did the murder is a new offender, meaning we have nothing in the system to help in identification...Well, we'd get a Predacon to see if they find any unusual scents in the dwelling but no one trusts them enough to let them into the city, and no offense, Councilor – you're one of them...Yes, some believe a Predacon might be responsible...No, _we_ don't. This crime is far too violent to have been committed by a Predacon. Spiteful as we are to them as a whole, they have a sense of civility when it comes to kills...The glyphs? No. We're still attempting to find a suitable translator. Thanks to Counterforce's interview with Wordwise we know these glyphs are in a language our species no longer recognizes...No, they have never been translated in so far as we know, which is why finding a translator will be a miracle by itself..."

Counterforce waited patiently on the threshold while his superior finished his talk with Councilor Prowl.

"...No, we don't have reason believe the killer will expand out of the city. Even if they make the attempt we'll slagging well make sure they don't kill anyone else...No, no one has made an attempt on Folklore. My patrollers are watching the dwelling still. I think if they wanted to kill her or harm her they would've made an attempt by now, but I'l have them stay on another solar cycle just to be safe. Yes, Councilor...The warrant for Wordwise's security system will be sent within the next half joor? You managed to get a majority rule? I-I – well. Thank you. But I'll be honest with you, Councilor: I'm afraid this might end up as a cold case no matter how we play our tokens. We simply don't have enough evidence yet."

The red and purple Seeker mech disengaged the line and turned to face his officer.

The younger Praxian saluted: "Sir!"

Aegis smiled wryly: "At ease, son. There's no need for that."

Counterforce relaxed.

"So," said Aegis. "You find anything else? Any minor connections we could make use of till that warrant comes in?"

"Wordwise said he'd hand the feed over even without a warrant, sir."

"I know. But I also know how much the Council loves their precious regulations. It may take a bit longer, true, but if it keeps the Council from erupting into a firestorm then we'll grin and bear it. Still, I will admit that Prowl said the other Councilors were...perturbed by this case. They're anxious it keeps out of the media. Kills this brutal, this seemingly senseless...well...it could start a panic. We're under orders now to keep it contained to our precinct. No data leaks. That, and if it gets into the media the killer would become even more cautious. Pit, the scraplet might even try again if they know even an iota of what we're looking for. Of course, we don't have much to look for at the moment, but you understand the point."

His officer nodded: "Yes, sir. I'll try to help Evac keep the chattier 'bots quiet. I'm assuming Flint, Mazerunner, Gundog, and Junction are under the same restrictions?"

"They are. Only allowed to discuss it among themselves as long as they're in the field. If they tell Folklore it might make her even more of a target. There hasn't been an attempt so far, but it's early as yet. Whoever killed Inkblot doesn't strike me as the kind of 'bot to let loose ends lie," He leaned forward to rest his arms on the table, neatly folded. "Any luck getting hold of a translator yet, son?"

Counterforce shrugged in a slightly confused manner. He told Aegis that there were quite a number of skilled translators working out of the Iacon Hall of Records. He'd put in a request to their lead translator, Parlay, along with an encrypted image of some of the glyphs that he was to carefully pass around to his co-workers and colleagues to see if anyone recognized them or found anything like them in the Hall. Parlay would ping him once he'd found someone, as he was fairly certain there were datapads with some of those unusual glyphs in the Hall. He just didn't know where. He was a linguist but he focused more on modern dialects, not long forgotten ones no one could read anymore.

"Tell me the moment he pings you, would you? If we find out what even some of those glyphs say we might find a hint of motive. Every killer has a reason, no matter how subtle it might be. Or unsubtle in this case."

"Yes, sir. If you don't mind I'd like to use the panorama room to try to reconstruct what happened that night."

"Go ahead."

The younger Praxian spun about and headed for his destination.

* * *

" _Ha! I know Parlay! He's the one who taught me how to speak formal Predacon after I graduated from Kaon's police academy!_ "

Counterforce smiled: "Did he, now? I always thought you'd learned it from the Predacons themselves seeing as you seem to enjoy working with them. Aren't there quite a lot of them in and around Kaon? I didn't see any in the city itself last I visited with you aside from Deadbeat and Dropout."

" _Oh, yeah. They enjoy Kaon because of its more liberal interpretation of laws. Not just legal one but social, too. Kaon is one of the few cities on record that's always been generally welcoming to Preds. Tagan Heights, Iacon, and Altihex fall into close seconds. I learned their language as a gesture of goodwill and respect. I'm one of the minority on Cybertron who's willing to give the big lugs the benefit of the doubt. They're only really dangerous if you manage to frag them off somehow. You didn't see any because they still have a distrust of us city-dwellers, so they're not there en masse or anything._ "

"Ah. I see. It's merely an open-door policy with them?"

" _You could put it like, yeah. There are some that work in business there, and who are employed by Kaonian law enforcement. The latter mainly constitute the Well Guardians. Y'know_ – _Predaking's boys. Majority of them are just happy to trade with Kaonians. They find some pretty interesting stuff out there when hunting for scraplets in the Underworld. I think Skylynx brought back an old Rust Age doohickey recently. Researchers were fascinated by it and paid out some good stuff to the Well Guardians._ "

"I understand why. Rust Age items are rare. He...he didn't find that in an old Predacon tomb, did he? I remember my history well. The Rust Age was the height of the Predacon race in the past. Many tombs have been found but many more remain hidden or unexplored. Some have simply been destroyed thanks to cyber-quakes."

" _No, no. Predaking has a policy set up about tomb raiding that applies to both our races. Plundering beast graves is an offense punishable by death in Predacon society. If researchers want in to study a beast's tomb they gotta have permission from the Predacus. Explicitly. Predacons regard the tombs of their dead as homes should the spark return for any length of time for whatever reason. Example: If you take something from such a tomb you have to return it when you're done so the spark can continue to make use of it. It's a fascinating belief system, really. But point here is: go in without their blessing and it's basically trespassing of the worst kind. And any Pred who finds out is gonna be none too happy with you. To the point of possibly taking your helm off._ "

Counterforce hemmed thoughtfully. "I wasn't aware of that. That _is_ fascinating. I've done some reading into their culture as a hobby but I'm nowhere near the level of knowledge you seem to possess. Not even with the Blue Moons hanging around Praxus on a regular basis now. Thank you for that, by the way. I know I've said it before but that was very generous and helpful of you to set up that arrangement. We're making good use of it."

" _Not a problem. I'm on good terms with them. They like me. Now enough small talk. Get on with the tale! When did you find a translator?_ "

"Well, not right away unfortunately. Parlay had to be careful, you know. I will say Flint had something rather peculiar happen to him that same morning. He told me about it afterwards. Our chronometers both agreed that it happened during my chat with Aegis. Gave him and the other patrollers on duty a nasty turn."

* * *

Flintlock was beginning to get antsy. He'd been on duty outside Folklore's dwelling for nearly a solar cycle straight now and he was bored out of his cranial chamber. Nothing had happened last night, and Folklore had yet to rise this morning. Nothing suspicious about that. Hoist had supplied some mild sedatives late last night to help keep her shock and ensuing emotional stress manageable. Poor femme had been too scared to let herself power down the other night, even with four Praxian officers parked in vigil around her dwelling and hot-wired into her comm. link.

He was about ready to call in to Aegis that there was "nothing doing" and they had no reason to fret when a shriek of absolute terror nearly split his processor in two. Transforming, he dashed for the front entrance and forced it open with a magna-key Folklore had provided him. His pace didn't slow as he careened towards her quarters. He half expected to experience gory déjà vu, and so he braced himself.

What he found was Folklore sitting up ramrod straight in her berth, legs tucked in close to her chassis. She looked spooked out of her wits, her optics so wide he was genuinely afraid the shutters might lock up. She was hyperventilating. Her plating was held tightly against her frame. He could hear a faint rattle as she trembled violently.

"What in the Pit happened, femme? Ya alright?"

Even as he asked he knew the second was a daft question. Of course she wasn't alright. She looked about five kliks away from having a spark attack. He wasn't usually as smooth as some of the other patrollers when it came to femmes but he'd picked up quite a bit from Mazerunner and Counterforce over the groons. The patrolmech slowly drew up beside her and took a seat. Folklore leaned in against his arm, still looking terrified. Her plating did loosen up a bit and the trembling wasn't as bad now. He used his free hand to hold her steady.

"What happened?" he asked again.

"Night-terror," she gasped out.

The femme began to weep at that. But Flintlock wasn't about to end it there.

He forcibly tried to keep his tone level: "Can ya give me a description? What happened in it?"

Folklore shook her helm. "No. I-I do not wish to remember! It was too horrible!"

The patrolmech's helm jerked up on hearing banging pedefalls. Mazerunner and Gundog appeared on the threshold, weapons drawn. They lowered them on noticing they weren't needed. Two tense frames relaxed somewhat.

"What happened?" Mazerunner reiterated as he came in.

"Night-terror," said Flintlock. "Real doozy from the looks of it. We better get her to Evac an' make sure she's okay. She's sufferin' system shock. We ain't medics."

Gundog nodded and went about pinging Circuitbreaker for a 'bridge. One appeared off to the side of the chamber. Flintlock helped the shaken femme up and guided her towards it. Mazerunner joined him and helped her through. Gundog, a big-framed, lean and intelligent looking mech who bore canine-like attributes, took a quick look around the room with his sharp pale green optics to ensure no funny business. There was a darkness in the room he alone seemed to have sensed. A hungry darkness. Growling, he pinged Junction to remain on site until one or more of them returned.

* _Roger, Gunny. I'll stay put._ *

And so Gundog left.

* * *

 _One Joor Later..._

Pacing.

Counterforce paced to and fro in the panorama chamber, expression deeply thoughtful yet entirely dissatisfied. He was walking in a patterned design through the holographic reconstruction of the crime scene, body included more tastefully as an armor-less proto-form with its chassis ripped open. The scrawled horned glyph on the chassis seem to mock him alongside its many floor-bound mates. Around, between and behind he wove through the ghostly reconstruction frozen in time. He himself had lost track of time while in the chamber. All that mattered was the scene before him.

There were the transfer stains he'd found. There were the drag marks in the spilled fuel that indicated the corpse had been moved. All the overturned and misplaced furniture stood in testament of the one-sided, violent struggle that had taken place. All in all a violent crime. Too violent. Even staring at this ghostly mirror he got a chill lacing up his backstrut. Humans had a saying to describe this eerie sense: someone walking over your grave.

He paused by the body. That was odd to him. Why move the body at all? Logic told him that the symbol had been drawn beforehand. But Evac had found that Inkblot's Energon had been used to draw the symbols and glyphs. So had Inkblot been attacked, used as an artist's palette for the killer to draw the elaborate floor graffiti and, once the floor artwork had dried enough, been moved into place? Why though? Why move the body at all? There was a reason there strong enough for the killer to spend a long span of time to get this artwork done properly. Energon took about four breems to dry completely. But if the killer was so patient, why the scrawling, unsteady hand on the chassis? It was hard to deny the blatant difference in style. The same hand had done it though. Of that he was certain.

' _Why? Why?_ ' he mused silently.

' _How?_ ' another part of him argued.

The Praxian shuttered his optics in an attempt to visualize what might have happened. He re-opened them, unaware that his sole silver optic was shimmering faintly. He could see a ghostly Inkblot rise from a seat in the living area in response to hearing something towards the front of the dwelling. She returned, conversing with an invisible target. She and the target spoke for some time, seemingly debating something. Wordwise had mentioned a missing data pad with some untranslated cyberglyphs on it. Might that be what they had spoken about? The killer had most likely been let in, and strangers were not typically permitted into dwellings unless the occupant knew them. No robbery or a disruption in any of the other chambers supported that. What had turned a seemingly pleasant encounter backwards? The killer seemed to have planned this crime out to the cyberglyph. That kind of personality wasn't known for violent spur-of-the-moment personality swings. But planning required research! Aside from the mysterious data pad Inkblot was entirely innocent. What had turned Inkblot into a target for murder?

' _If he or she wanted to know what the glyphs meant and got them, then why kill Inkblot? They'd got what they came for, hadn't they?_ '

His musings were interrupted when his comm. link pinged. The vision of Inkblot faded and left only the ghostly mirror of the crime scene.

"Hello?"

[ _Enchanté_ , my Praxian partner!] came a flowing, rich voice. [I do hope I am not interrupting you?]

A thin smile broke out on his lip-plates.

"Parlay! You got a translator for me? Please say yes. I'm in dire need of good news."

[Indeed I have. Young but promising linguist: Syntax of Vos. Not only is he an expert in ancient Predacon but he's talented with most any language no longer in common use. Took some wire-pulling to convince him to help but he will do so.]

"Give him the number of my precinct and have him 'bridge over. We need to find out what those glyphs mean."

[Already done, officer. But he is busy at the moment. Very busy. He teaches Ancient Languages at the Vosian Academy. Five separate classes today if you can believe it. He should be done by tonight if that is not too inconvenient for your precinct? Say 2430 hours or thereabouts?]

"Ah. It might be best for him to come in the morning then. We'd feel bad if we overworked him. Aside from a few officers our precinct is generally emptied out by 2700 hours. Aegis wouldn't want him to come here to a practically empty building. Everyone is generally here around 0800 hours. Aegis and I are the early arrivals; we're here around 0645 hours. Would that work for Syntax?"

[I'll ask him. I believe he only has one class tomorrow.]

"Thanks, Parlay. I owe you one."

[No, no. It is always a pleasure to assist good, honest precincts like yours. And Inkblot's killer cannot go unpunished. Any assistance I can render is happily given.]

After a few more exchanged pleasantries the line went dead.

Not knowing what else to do, Counterforce continued his pacing for the the remainder of the half joor wait for the warrant. When it did come through and was sent off to Wordwise's establishment, Flintlock came to retrieve him from the panorama room, joking he could wear a groove in the floor someplace else while analysts reviewed all the data. The Praxian homicide investigator did notice that Flint seemed perturbed, and he was headed in the general direction of the mortuary. Something was bothering him. He might as well ask.

"Flint? What's up?"

"Folklore had one Pit of a night-terror and she won't talk about it with anyone. Think you can lend us your silver glossa, CF? Evac's tried, Hoist's given it his best, my patrollers have had a go. Got nothin' out of her. She ain't spillin'. You and she got along real well last time. Here's hoping you can get her to talk as easily as you did during the questionin'."

Counterforce nodded: "Here's hoping."

* * *

The two mechs found Folklore being gingerly tended to by Hoist. Evac toiled in the background, doing her best to be a mere ambiance in the room. The young archivist honestly had looked better. Now the poor femme looked sickly. Scared and sickly. Counterforce's spark twinged in pity. First she lost her best friend, now she was tormented by bad dreams. Folklore couldn't seem to catch a break with the stress it seemed.

Counterforce approached the shaken femme and knelt a little so as to be at optic level with her. Her haunted optics snapped up to meet his dual-colored gaze.

"Hey," he said softly. "Flint told me you had a night-terror."

Folklore nodded silently. He was curious to note her own gaze then refused to meet his directly after the admittance. He didn't see any guilt in them. Of course, he hadn't seriously considered the femme as a suspect at any point (she didn't fit the psych profile of the murderer for one) but history revealed that anyone with a guilty conscience might be bothered by bad dreams. He believed Folklore was just plain spooked, nothing more. That haunted visage was not guilt but fear.

"You wanna tell me about it? I'm no psychologist but my Guardians always told me it's best to tell someone about a night-terror. Once it's out in the open where it can be interpreted and explained away it's not so scary anymore. I should know. I had a few bad ones as a sparkling myself. I even have night-terrors to this solar cycle. Usually job related. I just have a talk with Flint, Aegis, or Half-Pint about it and it usually stops occurring."

Folklore did not speak. It seemed she did not want to discuss the nature of her night-terror. Then:

"Mine needs very little interpretation, officer. It was about The Night. The night Inky died."

Attention was suddenly riveted on the archivist. Counterforce tossed a glance at the others in a request not to pressure her. The attention soon became more indirectly targeted.

"Tell me. What happened?" he asked in that same soft voice, "What did you see?"

She once more fell silent. Tears began to well in the corners of her optics. She shook her helm: "I-I can't. I-It's too frightening. I don't w-want to remember."

Counterforce gripped her hands and held them as he pleaded: "Folklore, listen to me. Please try to remember and tell us. If this is Inkblot trying to get a message to us through you we need to know. You could be her only means of obtaining justice for what happened. You might be her only hope for peace. Be strong. For her."

The femme stared at him in what looked like bewilderment. She demanded if he really believed that sort of thing. He admitted outright and calmly that he did. He had been raised in a more spiritual background than most other law officers. He was among those who believed that victims of violent crimes like this one had a hard time letting go in order to rest. That, and he'd seen and experienced some rather peculiar things in his life that didn't seem to have any grounds in raw science. As a matter of fact he'd felt... _something_ at the crime scene. A chill. Like had someone had walked over his grave.

"Same," Flintlock added in, "I ain't got the same beliefs as you, CF, but I will say something weren't right in that room. Not one bit. Gruesome murder aside. Wanna say it stemmed from those freaky glyphs."

"Ditto," said Hoist. Evac grunted her consensus.

Folklore hunched up. "I-I guess if all of you agree on that..."

The Praxian gently squeezed her hands in encouragement with one of his gentlemechly smiles. Folklore stared at his unusual optics for a bit as if using them as an anchor. She gave a shaky exvent. She finally began to speak:

"I-I was in Inkblot's home. I think I may have _been_ her. I don't know. That's not really the point. It was a nice enough dream to start out with. I was just sitting there, relaxing and reading. I don't know what I was reading. All I saw in my hand was a data pad; I didn't see what was on it. It was more like I was trying to conceptualize the general idea instead of going into fine details? I-I heard something – but didn't hear it. If that makes sense? I g-got up to go and – and see what the noise was. There was someone at the door. I think. I couldn't see them, not really. It was like the conceptualized data pad. I knew there was someone there – the general idea of a 'bot – but I couldn't _see_ them the same way I'm looking at you. I don't know if it was a mech or a femme or a beast or what. It was just a 'bot."

Attention once more riveted on the femme archivist. Flintlock was tense now. Counterforce's grip tightened around Folklore's hands. She took another shaky intake of air and continued:

"I l-led them back to where I'd been sitting. We struck up conversation. Again, I don't know what we were talking about, just that we were talking. The focus point was the data pad I had. I do know that. But...something changed. I don't know what. What happened next was a blur. Next thing I know the 'bot was walking towards me with a strange smile. I-I was scared. The smile wasn't right. Cruel. The 'bot drew a plasma knife, scaring me even more. I tried to run but the 'bot grabbed me and said something in a language I didn't recognize. I-It was harsh and gutteral yet had this smooth undertone. An evil voice. They whipped out a plasma knife and lashed at me. The 'bot's optics flashed purple as they did and – Ah! I can't! I can't!" she wailed in terror, burying her faceplates in her hands, "It was too frightening!"

"Was that all you saw?" asked Counterforce. It was all he could do not to shiver. The whole thing just – it felt too real.

She looked at him then. It was a look the mech would remember for the rest of his life. Her words stuck with him as well.

"Darkness. There was a great, looming darkness. Black and shadow and wrath and hunger with no form. It swallowed the 'bot and then lunged at me. I was so frightened I woke screaming. Ah! No! It's seared into my mind!" she wailed again and broke down.

The golden Praxian squeezed her hands again to try to calm her. He removed one hand to massage her arm. The weeping lessened by a fraction.

"I can understand why that would frighten you, Folklore. That would've frightened me, too. I'm just sorry you weren't able to see who it was. Dreams are finicky like that. They rarely give you the whole picture. But I swear by the Primes, even if it takes vorns upon vorns or more we _will_ find who did this. Justice will prevail for Inkblot. Count on it. This will not go unpunished. You have the word of the entire fifteenth precinct on that."

She looked up at him:

" _Please find them_ _._ "

* * *

 _The Following Morning..._

"Um, h-hello. I, um, I-I'm looking for Commander Aegis and Counterforce? I, um, I-I'm supposed to meet them this morning...? Something about a, er, a translation?"

Gundog regarded the newcomer mech before him. Scrawny looking little flier. A lot of sharp angles in his design. Some glowing accents. Young to be teaching classes at an Academy in his opinion. Color scheme was pretty vibrant: bright red and gold. Blue optics and a Neutral crest. That was a bit odd. No command of language when he was nervous. Definitely a scholar. He didn't doubt his authenticity. He just doubted his ability to form a complete sentence and not waste time stammering.

"You Syntax?" he asked in a grunt.

"I, um, ah, I-I am. I-I, well, in all honesty I, uh, I wasn't expecting a half-beast as an employee here. How exactly did you – how did you get this position? If that's not too intrusive of –"

Gundog cut him short with two words: "With me."

"Oh! Oh. Okay. I'll just, ah, I'll follow you then."

Syntax let Gundog lead him through the precinct. He stopped at a door. It hissed open to reveal two mechs inside. One was a red and purple Seeker, the other a golden and silver grounder. He was curious to note the second mech wore an optic band. They thanked Gundog and gestured Syntax to come inside.

"Thank you for coming so promptly, sir," the Seeker said politely, "I know it's a bit early but we didn't want to take you away from your lesson later today. I'm Commander Aegis and this is Counterforce, one of my homicide investigators."

"Oh! It's no problem. Really," Syntax said. "Y-You said you needed my help with a translation of some mystery glyphs?"

Aegis and Counterforce shared a glance that made Lingo uneasy. The former nodded to the latter who slid a data pad over the desk to Synxtax. Aegis warned him he might not like what he saw. Syntax picked it up anyway. Aside from a horrified widening of his optics he remained relatively calm. He started mumbling to himself and pacing as his linguistics programs kicked into overdrive:

"Hmm. Interesting. I've seen some examples of these glyphs but this is the most complete set yet. Only a handful of these glyphs have ever been translated, so I'm not sure how helpful I'll be. Now let's see here...hm...yes, that one roughly translates to 'dark' or perhaps 'shadow'...that one I believe might mean 'innocent.' Bit odd that one being there...This one I'm unsure of; could mean anything. Ah, but that one I believe means 'servant'...You know, it's very interesting, the set up with these glyphs. I'm no detective myself but this looks like the set up of some kind of ritual. You see that sort of design in old Predacon tombs. They call it sacred geometry. It's supposedly meant to help protect the spark from anything that might try to harm it while it stays in the tomb. See how the body's been placed atop the floor glyphs, perfectly centered so that the glyphs radiate outwards?"

"Focus, son. Translation. Not history lesson," Aegis chided.

"Sorry, sorry," Syntax apologized quickly, "Ah, that one there has a bit of a blurry meaning unfortunately. Could mean 'chosen' or 'cursed.' Linguists like myself think it's the symbolic opposite of the _Relkana_ glyph. Archaeologists have found it once or twice in old tombs on other planets but never figured out the significance of its presence. There were no other glyphs in those tombs to help in translation. As for the main horn glyph on the body...I've never seen that mark before. I don't even think it's a glyph. It might be some kind of brand with the way it's used here on the chassis and as a centerpiece to the ground glyphs."

"Brand? What for?" Aegis wondered.

"I-I don't know, sir. I don't."

"Pit," Counterforce cursed. "Anything else?"

Syntax looked over the glyphs a few more times. "Well, these glyphs here and here –" He pointed. "They're connected as a pair. I'm not entirely sure what they mean but they bear a faint resemblance to the old Predacon glyphs that translate to 'one who defiles.' Simplified it means 'defiler.' It could mean something else. Oh! And that one there. It's never been translated but linguists think it might mean 'gift' or 'offering.' _Could_ solidify this as a ritual kill. What the ritual was exactly or what its purpose was I can't say. I've never read anything about ritual kills like this in connection with these glyphs. Whoever did this kill has more knowledge about this dead language than all the linguists today combined. That in itself is interesting, I think. _Where_ or _from whom_ did they learn it? It's a dead language we know very little about. Y-You can't just pick up a datapad and learn it in your spare time!" He gestured wildly. "Why I-I've spent most of my life trying to learn it! And we still know basically nothing about it other than a few words!"

Aegis gave a growling sigh and shook his helm. Inconclusive. This whole business was just one big merry-go-round of dead ends. If only a Predacon would have been allowed in to track perhaps they could've found the rust bucket by now. But the Council was leery of them, always had been and always would be. He hoped that would change in time. Maybe then crimes like this could have an ending.

* * *

" _Wha...? That's it?_ " Sentenza cried. " _But what happened? What about the killer? The motive? The missing data pad?_ "

Counterforce had been pacing around as he had been re-telling the end of this mysterious saga. He paused now. His expression was grim, dissatisfied. This crime had always bothered him, and he assumed it would until the killer was found.

"I warned you there was no ending, Sen. Some crimes have no conclusion. That's just how real life works. We've never found the killer, we've never gotten a concrete motive, and we never found that missing data pad from the museum archives. It's a harsh truth that some crimes go unsolved."

" _Well, what happened after that? Anything relating to it pop up later?_ "

"Council reviewed it and classified it, oddly enough. Only our precinct has any knowledge of it, if what little we know could be counted as knowledge. We tried to ask why but we never got an answer. The security feed we got was inconclusive, too. One of the cameras was malfunctioning in one region of the building around the time Wordwise remembers the strange request for the data pad, which we assume is where the killer and Inkblot met. It happened three solar cycles consecutively so we have reason to be suspicious. Footage couldn't be recovered, unfortunately. In my opinion I think the Council was spooked; maybe one of them might have had a hint about the crime. If they did they never spoke up. As for later...Aegis has done some surreptitious snooping of late and found something a little peculiar in some old classified documents after getting a young hacker on the job. What he found raised some questions."

Sentenza asked breathlessly: " _What did he find?_ "

"It took a lot of digging and some skirting of the law, but the hacker found old reports deep in the Iaconian Hall of Record's databases. Some pre-War data had been preserved on them: crime reports, Council reports; things like that. Hacker found that crimes like this had been found before by previous law enforcement agencies – at least one in every Age after the Rust Age, though Aegis doesn't think they didn't occur then. They never found the killer or the motive either. The reports were somewhat corrupted from time and heavily encrypted. Only some data could be gotten from them, but it was enough to pique our interest."

" _That's the Pit. That the one cold case you never solved?_ "

"Oh, no. There are some still waiting in storage to be solved. Every precinct has them. That's the one crime my precinct's had where we kept winding up back at the start with nothing to go on. A crime with inconclusive evidence and no motive. Same as the others the hacker found. A _modus operandi_ that repeats in completely unconnected crimes over billions of stellar cycles, some of which are separated by millions of stellar cycles? Tombs found with that strange anti- _Relkana_ glyph? Something's going on there, and we don't understand what."

Sentenza agreed. Even she admitted herself stumped. Nothing added up. That mystery engine the civvie had heard could've been the killer, or it could've been her Guardian protocols reacting to an unrecognizable engine of a hoodlum or someone else making the rounds.

Counterforce looked out one of the windows to see his city shimmering in the light of Luna-2.

"Sen, I'm telling you this in confidence. This entire case and anything connected to is classified. Please, keep this to yourself."

" _I promise. Won't tell a spark_ ," She paused for a while. " _Hey, thanks for telling me about it despite the rules,_ _nightlight._ "

"No, no. It's fine. It's always a pleasure to keep you company at night. If you're not ready to turn in, is there something else you'd like to talk about?"

She laughed a little and said: " _Yeah, actually. What's up with your optics? I keep forgetting to ask, and I...well, it's kind of an impertinent question._ "

He revved his vocalizer and tried to sound as much like a formal scientists as he could:

"While heterachromatism is not unheard of in our species, most sufferers of it simply have their optical sensors swapped to the same color. I was never tempted to do so. If a trait makes one unique, why alter it? The individual should not be forced to assimilate into the masses due to a peculiar trait, to be the same as everyone else. Individuals are what gives a society, a culture, its vibrant colors and countless, subtle nuances of character. Should everything be the same then life would be unbearably bland."

The Seeker on the other end erupted into giggles. He smiled. She really was lovely whenever she laughed. How he wanted to hear that carefree sound more often.

" _Primus, you sound just like Perceptor!_ "

"Why thank you. I'll take that as the highest compliment. Any other questions?"

" _Your light talent. What's the story behind it? I've never met or heard of anyone else with it. The Demon sure as the Pit doesn't like it._ "

"Well..."

* * *

 **Author's Note: And that's the mysterious Horned Crown Killing that Counterforce mentioned in Chapter 28 of Nature of the Beast! :D The other one he mentioned is more or less the same crime, so I'll leave that one unwritten. I'd basically be writing the same story twice. I'll perhaps mention it in another one-shot for this series. Hope that provides a little more insight!**


	11. Chapter 10

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

Part 10: Side Effects

* _Did some reading into Nebulon and Hydrus Four and came across the substance known as Nucleon. Apparently it's a kind of performance enhancing drug and/or miracle curative with some pretty disastrous side-effects like the loss of transformation and eventual painful death if used constantly, and side effects are never the same between two Cybertronians. Going by that info, here's another case file for you guys. Enjoy!_

 _Warning: Teeny tiny bit suggestive at parts. Hey, this is crime. And Kaon. I:_ _Also, this is more based off the style of the TV crime drama "Castle" rather than an Agatha Christie novel. S'why it's a teeny bit more suggestive. I sort of based Lowrider on the main character, Richard Castle. xD He's a shameless flirt but he's also hilariously creative._

 _*I imagine the Enforcer at the start here would look a bit like Killer Croc from "The Batman" animated series from I think it was 2004. I loved their design for Croc in that one, and the design fits with a Cybertronian pseudo-beast._

 _Also, meet yet another OC: Commander Corpselight of Kaon's 7th precinct. Fun little note: a "corpselight" or "corpse lantern" is another name for a will-the-wisp. As chief of a precinct in Kaon, he leads his officers down the "right" path. In the case of crooked cops or figures, he leads them into a trap down a "false" road. Will-o-the-wisps are known for being mischievous in good or bad ways. :)_

* * *

 _In Kaon's southwest quadrant, a veiled shadow stalked the dark byways. Two figures were ahead of it, only one in the shadow's line of sight. The other figure was farther ahead, having rounded a corner into another alley. If the one the shadow followed possessed the ability to see it, had even known the shadow was there, they would have not only recognized the lurking figure but described its movements as nearly feline. It did not walk_ _–_ _it slunk, almost with a dance-like step, producing hardly any noise. Only a Predacon could have heard the faint taps of the shadow's pedes on the metal ground, and only a Predacon would have noticed in an instant the peculiar set of mannerisms and behaviors as hunting._

 _Because that was what She was doing: hunting._

 _She had, while prowling the skies and rooftops, picked up terrified mumbling from close at hand. She thus had found an unusual mech colored red and purple who bore an unusual frame design much like a terrestrial crustacean. She faintly recognized him as an informant for the Council, someone who had a habit of knowing everyone's business. A quick scan of the area and found someone plainly pursuing the informer: an Enforcer. They were only ever sent out to deal with the Council's more "sensitive" problems._

 _She slowed Her pace further as the large, heavily-armored Enforcer slowed his own. Quiet as She could be when on the hunt it would not do to let him get suspicious. This Enforcer was a pseudo-beast after all_ _– a mech with a distinct reptilian design to him, one with large fangs and a tail. Some manner of Reptoid, clearly. His hearing might be better than a regular mech's. She had no cause to worry about her field alerting him, weak and contained as it was. She did have to applaud that dubious Senator Contrail for an appropriate choice to track down his target. She did not know the mech's name, nor did She care to learn it. He was threatening someone and would possibly hurt the individual, so before long he would be at Her pedes, bleeding his life out. Even if the one he was chasing was not exactly trustworthy, he was innocent. There was a difference between a blackmailer and someone who was simply indiscreet._ _Then again, people who were indiscreet had an unfortunate habit of being less than honest anyway. But the Enforcer's target this time had simply been indiscreet from the sounds of it. There had been no dishonest intent. So that meant he was under Her protection._

 _And the idiot Enforcer was going chasing the loose-lipped side-walker deeper and deeper into Her territory. She almost smirked. It was too easy. Like many not of Kaon he believed Her to be nothing more than an urban legend or a particularly dangerous rumor. He had no cause to fear for his life, no cause to fear a "vengeful spark back from the Void." Pah. He very soon would be fearing for it. Very soon. She would see to that._

 _The Enforcer paused at an intersection of four alleyways, checking for a signal on his single-optic visor. He smirked himself on finding it down one of them. She knew why: that alley was a dead end, and the alleys all around contained small businesses like off-the-radar clinics and the like. At this hour of the night those business saw very little traffic and were shut down. No one would see him do what needed to be done. But what he didn't realize was that no one would see Her do what needed to be done either._

 _"Come on, Clampdown. I'm not gonna kill ya. Just need to teach ya a lesson 'bout keepin' your mouth shut 'bout confidential matters, see."_

 _While intelligent sounding the Reptoid spoke rather like a hired thug would. It nearly made Her growl and give away Her position. These types of Enforcers were the worst type. They were barely a step up from mercenaries. That a civil body like the High Council was employing mercenaries to "keep the peace" and "maintain order" was hypocritical and frustrating in the extreme. This spoke even more blatantly of the ethically grey and black Contrail. Star Saber might be involved, but he did not trust those who bore even a faint likeness to a beast._

 _He stepped into the alley, unaware his faint, moonlight crafted shadow now contained another._

 _"I-I didn't mean to let that info slip, Discharge! Please, I'll do whatever you want_ _–_ _just don't hurt me!"_

 _She followed the Enforcer further. Ahead of them, backed up against a wall and trembling from fear was an odd mech who resembled some variety of terrestrial crustacean, his two large pincer-limbs held up against his faceplates to block the blows he knew would fall. "Clampdown" the Enforcer had called him. She had heard that name whispered in connection with the Council a few times; he was some kind of informant if memory served Her, someone who made it their business to know everyone else's business as intimately as possible. He wasn't the most honest individual in the world but he did seem to be the relatively harmless sort. Her mouth twisted into a frown._

 _No one threatened a smaller, weaker opponent in her Her city. No one beat a smaller, weaker opponent in Her city._

 _She snuck as close as She dared, raised the scythe...and swung._

 _Clampdown let out a terrified shriek as the Enforcer's neck jerked to the side and split open, fresh fuel spurting from the wound. Gurgling, Discharge fell to the ground. She watched him struggle, unseen. At last he went still, optics dimming. Clampdown remained where he was, stunned speechless. His vocalizer kicked back into gear almost instantly:_

 _"Thank you! Thank you, Night Lady!" he said emphatically, practically kneeling, "I-I'll repay your kindness one day, I-I promise! You ever need help finding someone, come find me! I-I'll help you find whoever you need! I swear!"_

 _She was unmoved by the mech's thanks. She turned to leave._

 _Then, unexpectedly, the world began to tremble back and forth around Her._

 _"Miss? Miss, are ye alright? Miss!"_

* * *

The black Seeker jolted out of her nightmare with a gasp that was very nearly a shriek. Her wild, terrified yellow optics glanced around in confused fear. They instantly fell on a familiar frame and faceplate.

She found Camber bending over her with a worried expression, her hand on Sentenza's arm from where she'd shaken her out of power down. The mere sight of the maternal lessor served to remove a good portion of the fear, but it did not remove it all. She gave a shaky sigh and massaged her temples with one hand, shivering. Primus, the image of that dead Enforcer was practically seared into her processor. This was the tenth night-terror since it had happened, and it had been nearly six whole lunar cycles since then. She'd done other things since that particular attack, like shutting down a ring of weapon smugglers, but that one kept on recurring with fatal persistence.

' _I know what I did was wrong. Just stop tormenting me about it!_ ' It was all she could not to break down crying. That would only worry Camber more.

"Miss, are ye alright? I came up 'ere and found ye suffering a night-terror from the look of it," Camber said. "Are ye alright now? Ye feel as if ye've got a chill. Yer freezing, miss!"

She shook her helm in denial, still massaging her temporal plating. She sighed: "It's fine. I-I'm fine, Cam. Really."

Camber looked far from convinced, deep skepticism in her gaze. The black Seeker, verbally deny it as she might try, could not disguise how haggard and scared she looked. That night-terror must not've been pretty – o' course, not that they ever were, but this one must've been a real bad one if it could rattle a hardened detective like her. Her career meant she'd seen some pretty nasty things, after all. And what in Primus's name was going on with the cold-to-the-touch mesh? A Cybertronian was never cold to the touch unless they were offline or just gotten back from a sub-zero environment, no matter if they'd nearly had the spark scared out of them. The Seeker wasn't dead nor had she been anywhere that cold that she knew of – Pit, she was there right in front of her very much alive!

The older femme removed her hand and made her way with a bit of hurry to a seat where a thermal blanket was draped messily over the back. Privately she wondered at this, as the Seeker always made an attempt at neatness. She also wondered why she would lie and say she was fine when she plain as the sun wasn't. Was it a desire not to worry her? Or something else? The Seeker was enigma she wanted solved, but at the same time she didn't want to nose into her business too much. Old gossip though she was, she respected the Seeker too much for that sort of thing. Shaking her helm a little to disperse these thoughts the older femme draped the thermal blanket over Sentenza. She seemed thankful for the sudden increase in temperature.

But Camber did not leave the room. She was worried about the Seeker. In her opinion she needed to see a medic about that chill. That wasn't normal. Could mean she wasn't processing Energon properly, or else something might be amiss with her cooling and heating systems.

"...Are ye alright, miss?" she asked again.

She was surprised when Sentenza huddled up and refused to meet her optics.

"No."

"Ye want te...talk about it?"

Sentenza shivered and answered again: "No."

Neither of them spoke for a time. Camber went about tidying up a few odds and ends lying around the various rooms. Sentenza did not move. She appeared almost listless to the other femme. She still looked afraid though. Camber had to wonder what the night-terror had been about. She'd heard a few other tenants report shrieks of fear coming from this floor in the middle of the night or in the wee hours of the morning – and it had only started about five lunar cycles ago judging by her logs. There had been a few reports before that, but they'd been much sparser. And those wounds she came back with sometimes in her younger years, too. Sentenza had never explained who or what had inflicted them. Some she wouldn't let Camber patch up, insisting she "tidy up herself." She always said she'd "just gotten sloppy." It didn't happen much anymore, though she'd still come in to see her wiping Energon off her frame. She had always assumed Thunderhoof's goons but...what if there was more to it than that?

Sentenza's own thoughts were much more fearful, less speculative. She remembered the one outing with Counterforce. His words rang in her helm:

" _Even a little help can go a long ways_ – _but you have to put your fear and pride aside to accept that help._ "

She sighed. _Damn_ that mech and his honest wisdom. She didn't want to involve her lessor. That would just put her in even more danger than she already was in, no matter how indirectly she might be associated with her activities. But – agh! Slag him to the deepest corners of the Pit! _He was right._ Hiding her double nature from the femme who housed her (even though she'd managed it for a very long time now with flying colors) would only result in further complications. And in any case, Camber might eventually find out anyways. Gossips tended to be naturally suspicious. Better to put her straight from the get-go than have her find her in a comprising position one night and have her assume wrongly.

"Cam? I-I need to tell you something."

Camber turned an inquisitive gaze on the Seeker, but before she could get her thoughts out into the air there came the sound of pedes pounding. Sentenza's practiced audials surmised maybe two individuals with a barely possible third. One about medium in weight. The second was quite heavy, suggesting a powerfully built individual. The final one was so light in their step she could hear it only just. Mini-con maybe? Or some small beast-former? It was so light she nearly dismissed it as an echo. But the pattern against the others suggested it was the primary source of the sound, not secondary. If it was a mini-con she was curious as to why it wasn't with its Deployer. Only rarely did you find one by its lonesome.

"Looks like yer about te 'ave company, miss. Want me te clear out?"

She shook her helm. "No, no. Y-You can stay."

The older femme nodded. Some solar cycles she'd let her hang around when someone called on her help, other solar cycles she wouldn't. It all depended on subject matter and who exactly was gracing her with a visit. Some of her contacts tended to be from, er, shadier backgrounds. _Thastels_ and thieves for example. Obviously she thought these visitors were safe for her to meet.

The doors to her apartment slid open to permit three individuals. Two were individuals from the seventh precinct she readily recognized: Lowrider and Highbeam. One was a security officer and analyst for the precinct and the other was a young officer. What really caught her attention was a little mini-con mech at their pedes who had distinctly Draconian features. She'd never seen him before. If he was a Predacon of some kind he was the smallest Draconian she'd ever laid optics on.

"Sorry for bustin' in ye like this," Highbeam apologized quickly on noting the thermal blanket half-covering her, "But this little guy 'ere came to our door, baffled the docs on site, and so I figured we might as well come 'round to you. Thought you could help us solve this little problem he brought with 'im."

The mech gave a yelp of surprise when the mini-con punched his leg impatiently. Sentenza was curious as to why he didn't simply just speak. Some she knew could only communicate in auditory binary but she understood that fairly well. It wasn't that hard of a language to grasp, far simpler than Predacon. Was he mute perhaps? Such things did happen. Cheetor's Leoproid brother Dapplehide was one such example. His vocalizer had been damaged as a sparkling by scraplets, rendering it useless.

"Ah. T-This is Snapdragon by the way," He gestured at the little mini-con. "Go on. Tell her what you told us. And seriously, mech – mind your manners with her."

Snapdragon darted over to the low table in the living area, snatched a data pad off its surface and frantically began to input cyberglyphs into. It took him about a breem or so to get it all typed out for her to read. Finished, he handed it to her and began impatiently tapping his little pedes as she read the missive:

 _Long story short: I bought a case of Nucleon off a dealer a couple solar cycles ago. Wanted a bit of a kick before hitting the town to look for a little femme to keep company. At first it worked out just fine. Stuff's a great performance enhancer. I online this morning and suddenly I can't talk or transform. Thought it might be temporary, so I waited a solar cycle. When it didn't correct itself I t_ _ried to contact the dealer and demand a refund. No answer. Went to look for him in the place I met him. No one showed. I want you to find this scraplet for me, jail him, and get my credits back so I can get a Hyrdus Four healer to fix this. Those guys aren't cheap._

Sentenza's slender brow ridges rose, her yellow optics glancing down at Snapdragon. Nucleon was a banned substance due to its dangerous side-effects, but it had quite a few below-the-radar distributors thanks to gangs. It was often purchased by athletes, some not-so-scrupulous medical practitioners, and by 'bots looking to impress someone. That there was a dealer out there supplying mechs and femmes with it was irritating in the extreme. If there was one thing she despised more than murderers it was drug dealers, because what they did was far worse – not only were some drugs lethal, the drugs themselves enslaved the user. Her semi-dependency on medical-grade sedatives to keep the Demon in check on bad nights was a good if unfortunate example. Once she'd started using them it was difficult to get out of the habit because it worked so well.

"Sounds straight forward enough. You do realize I might have to arrest _you_ as well for buying it in the first place."

Snapdragon snatched the datapad from her abruptly and typed in some more words:

 _Don't slaggin' care. Just get that scraplet off the streets and get me my creds back. I'll gladly let you cuff me once he's in a cell. Tit for tat._

Camber's optics narrowed at what she interpreted as a badly concealed pick-up line. With no tone to go on there was no way to tell whether or not he meant that seriously or suggestively. She told the mini-con to watch himself in front of Sentenza. Lowrider however was smiling to himself in a pleased manner.

"I could totally work that into a pick-up line," he admitted amusedly, "That'll totally get the femmes after me at _Surreptitious_. They love that sort of bad cop motif. I'll have the girls eating out of my hands in breems."

Highbeam promptly smacked him upside the helm and told him to watch his subject matter. They were in front of a femme right now, two of them actually. He could save that sort of suggestive talk till he was there. Camber looked absolutely dumbstruck at the security officer. He didn't seriously frequent that place, did he? That was something no good cop should be doing.

"If the missus weren't 'ere I'd box your audials for that sort of actin'!" Camber hissed. "And ye get the nerve to call yerself a cop! Load of refuse!"

"Now, now, sweetspark. No need to get riled up. I don't frequent it. I just drop by after a particularly grueling day of work. Great way to relax and forget about life for a while. You should try it sometimes, Sen'za. If you can't find a mech to go with I'll happily escort you. Always best to have a guide who knows his way around..." He winked suggestively.

Sentenza smiled indulgently: "Sorry, sweetie. Tempting as that sounds, I'm already seeing someone else right now. Maybe another time."

Lowrider looked so disappointed that she very nearly laughed. Camber on the other hand looked to be astroseconds away from dragging the mech out of the room by his audials. The sheer nerve of this mech, suggesting this sort of thing to her tenant with her present! She snapped at the mech:

"I'm surprised you still 'ave your job!"

Lowrider flashed the older femme a debonair smile and promptly ignored her in favor of the Seeker: "Why must you keep breaking my spark like this?" he sighed.

Highbeam once more smacked him upside the helm and told him to just drop it. Someone like him should be lady-smart enough to know when said lady was not interested. He did not tell him that, beautifully alluring as the Seeker was (even he admitted that) he was getting a strange vibe from her that warned them to keep their distance. He'd gotten it a few times on visiting her. There was also a chill in the air of the apartment that was making his mesh tingle ever so slightly that Lowrider seemed oblivious to. Something wasn't right in this place. He'd felt it a couple times before.

"Alright. I'll take the job. Usual pay for a drug-related case is three hundred credits."

Snapdragon took the data pad once more.

 _Done._

He fished into a small subspace pocket and brought out a handful of three small shimmering tokens colored pale green. Each bore the crest of the High Council and was worth one hundred credits each. Sentenza took them, a little surprised at such prompt pay. Upper class little mech it seemed. He had credits. Judging by his bestial appearance and the way he wrote she hazard he might be a Tagan. Pseudo-beasts had no problem over there and some had gotten quite high on the social ladder. He just didn't appreciate being ripped off by a dealer. Then again, in her mind, anyone who purchased such a dangerous substance was going to regret it in some way. Nucleon was banned for a reason. It could be helpful in a pinch or fun for a while but it was dangerous. End of story.

"Thank you. I'll get started right away. Give me a little while and I'll pay a visit to you boys at the seventh to get the full story. I won't bother Snapdragon and have him write down everything a second time. Pretty tedious. I'm assuming he did? He just gave me the short version to save time?"

"Fine by me," said Highbeam. "Everything's waiting for you at the seventh. Thanks for lendin' us a 'elping 'and, Sen. Owe you one."

"No, it's fine. Honestly," she assured him, "Was looking for an excuse to get back out in the field."

Snapdragon left after putting the data pad back. Highbeam apologized again and he too left. Lowrider tried once more to entice her with an offer only for Camber to grab his right audial and start dragging him out in a whirl of indignant propriety. The older femme hauled him to the threshold with strength that rather belied her extended age and old frame, snarling a warning to mind his manners around upright femmes like the good detective. If he tried that sort of behavior again with her around he'd give him a message he wouldn't soon forget!

"Alright, alright. Primus. I'm goin'," Lowrider grumbled, massaging his sore audial, "Can you blame a mech for trying?" He poked his helm to one side to look at the Seeker within. "Hey, Sen'za! Mind me askin' who's the lucky mech?"

"OUT!"

Lowrider bade a hasty retreat down the hall. Camber sighed and shook her helm exasperatedly as the door hissed shut and she returned to the Seeker's side.

"The nerve of that mech, askin' ye such questions! I've 'alf a mind te report 'im to 'is superior!" she huffed.

Sentenza laughed a little. "He's harmless, Cam. Really. A bad flirt and a bit of a femminizer but he really doesn't mean any harm. He was just teasing me, that's all. He does it all the time. Nothing ever happens."

Some of the older femme's indignation died down, her propriety thus reassured. She picked up the tablet and read through the mini-con's missives. She remembered that Sentenza dealt with drug-related cases quite often but if memory served her this was the first Nucleon case she'd had for quite some time. The last one had been, oh, many, many groons ago. Council was very strict in keeping the substance off the street but they couldn't oversee everyone everywhere. Rebellious youth got a little crazy. Medics got experimental. Undesirables found a network or a means of creating dangerous substitutes and then distributing it. Corruption set in on the government. Things slipped past them.

"Ye don't think ol' Hoof's involved do ye, miss?" she wondered, eyeing the Seeker quizzically, "Thunderhoof might very well try te get Nucleon into 'is distribution ring. I wouldn't put it past 'im. Stuff's expensive as the Pit t'acquire or make but it also sells for a hefty price as well. Upper class youth or adults are the main buyers due te its price tag, I believe. S'what I've heard."

Sentenza put the thermal blanket aside and rose, taking the data pad from her lessor to skim through it herself. She did not answer right away.

"I dunno," she admitted honestly, "He might give it a try. He could really turn a profit from the stuff. But remember, Cam: Nucleon is not only dangerous, it can also result in termination. Thallium pearls do the same thing but they're pretty easy to acquire, and so long as you don't overdose on 'em it's basically safe. Thallium's very addictive to boot, meaning a steady supply of credits. If 'Hoof is afraid of losing too many buyers from Nucleon he might not bother. He'd stop turning a profit if his buyers started offing left and right. He's careful that way. Criminal but a good business sense. This could be some small-time dealer we've got here. It might even be one of his lackeys trying to get past his pay grade."

The Seeker stashed the data pad, gathered a few of her things into a small kit, and headed for the door. Just as she was about to leave she felt her lessor put a hand on her arm. She turned to see the older femme with worry in her old optics.

"Please be careful, miss."

Sentenza offered a small smile.

"I always am."

Camber gave her a skeptical arched brow ridge. Sentenza's Predacon yellow optics rolled.

"Okay. Safer than I used to be when I was younger. You're not gonna hear or read a news article about some random 'bot finding my dead chassis somewhere, alright? And I'll try to come home with minimal injuries if I get in a spot of trouble."

The arm was released, and the Seeker made her way out. Camber watched her black and red form until it reached a lift further down the hall. Her form stepped in, then she saw her no more. Camber thus returned to the room's safety and began tidying up some things her tenant had left lying around. Brilliant as the Seeker was in crime solving, her quarters could get a little untidy since she was so busy elsewhere most of the time. So she took it on herself to help keep the place organized for her. She began humming an old tune from before the War as she worked.

Unconsciously her mind began to question once more what the Seeker's night-terror had been about...and whether or not she needed to go see a psychologist.

She could still see in her mind's optic the Seeker's wildly frightened expression, could hear her terrified shriek of fear, could feel her hands reaching out wildly even as she seemed to want to run – run as far away as possible. She shivered a little in remembrance.

What had caused that?

' _And what had it been about?_ ' she asked herself.

* * *

KAON'S SEVENTH PRECINCT

Something fwumped against her from behind as she strode down the main hall. She turned to find Dropout hovering there in bird form, optics glittering in their usual lively yet casual way. One talon was held up for her to meet. Smiling, she tapped the taloned limb in what the humans called a high-five. Dropout let out a musical tone and swirled around her. She was a little surprised to see the Avioid here. Her smile turned more mischievous.

"Dropout," she said playfully, one hand on her hip an brow ridge arched, "You didn't get in trouble, did you?"

The Avioid let out a rolling squawking sound that was plainly laughter.

* _Nah! Actually some punk broke into our joint, nabbed some of our stock and had some fun with paint. Just came in to file a report. Happens every so often when a kid has a little too much in his systems. No biggie. And before ya ask, no_ – _no anti-Predacon stuff. Silly stuff really. "Yer mother's a washing machine!" Stuff wasn't even spelled right. We'd let it go with a laugh but Blaster convinced us to call it in just to make sure the kid ain't encouraged to try again. So whatcha doin' here, Black Bird? Hot on another case?_ *

"Yep. Druggie case. Nucleon."

He made a face at her as he said: * _Yeck! Only a total loony would go buyin' that stuff. Too many side effects. I'll take Thallium over that stuff any cycle. Well, g'luck to ya. I gotta get back before poor 'Beat gets overworked. Been busy lately at the club. No major incidents. Good sign. Maybe the Council'l start seein' that beasts ain't so bad._ *

With a flap of his metal wings he flew off. Shaking her helm she kept heading for the office of Chief Corpselight. While no Commander Aegis, she liked Corpselight a little better due to his being a little less militaristic in his manner and a lot more of a liberal interpreter of certain laws. That was why he liked getting her on cases covered by his precinct as often as possible. He knew she wasn't afraid to bend the rules to solve a case. Not that she didn't like Counterforce's superior, she just didn't like that they obeyed protocol more often. Too strict for her. They were more rule-abiding. She liked being more or less free to do what she wanted. Many of Kaon's precincts understood that.

She found the office. Not even bothering to knock, she strode in when they hissed open to permit her. Corpselight himself was a big mech colored black and grey with glowing purple accents. He was coated in heavy armor and possessed the alternative form of a hefty tank, and the tank's main gun poked up from one shoulder while a dozen smaller blasters pock-marked his entire frame. On one shoulder was the grim Decepticon crest. The big, burly mech looked up when she entered, his red optics appraising her with approval.

"Ah. There you are. Was wondering when you'd show up, detective," said Corpselight. A mischievous little smile formed and he asked: "Lowrider didn't give you any problems, did he? Highbeam said your good lessor tossed him out by audials, and good riddance. Everyone knows you're quite the looker but I think he needs to be a bit more tactful in his deliveries, eh?"

She laughed in her dry manner: "Oh, he tried alright. Turned him down. Again."

Corpselight smacked a hand on his leg and gave a ringing bark of a laugh. "Ha! What's this, the twentieth time you've broken that poor dolt's spark? Gotta give the scraplet credit for determination!"

They shared a laugh.

"Well, that aside – what do you think of our little problem? Too simple for you? Already know who the dealer is?"

She shook her helm, saying: "On the contrary. Nucleon dealers tend to be the careful sort. They know well enough the stuff's illegal and dangerous as the Pit so they'll try to avoid trouble. That means they'll be well below the radar of even the shadiest crook, and why the dealers themselves are simply referred to as ' _sveltoks_ ' on the street. They never meet in the mesh. They arrange drop-offs instead. Identifying a _sveltok_ is no easy feat because of that. All you really have to go off of are old scents and anonymous, voice-less data bursts."

Corpselight nodded. "Hubcap, Highbeam, Lowrider, our toxicologist Elixar, and a Predacon tracker are in charge of this problem. You'll coordinate with them."

"Who's the Pred?"

"Chimeran by name of Hun-Gurr. One of Predaking's boys. Voracious appetite but a good tracker so he assures. He's helped our friends in the fifth once or twice in the past. So long as you keep his tanks full he's happy to help. Bit mercenary that way but what will you? His boss gave us some scraplets and razorsnakes his tribe got to keep his appetite sated. If we run out before the case is done he'll give us some more. We should only need him for tracking at the drop-off site though, or any place related to it. Rather not have the guy try to gulp down one of my minis."

"Right. Snapdragon's here?"

"In with Elixar. If you need the full report he gave her earlier I've got it right here." He handed her a data pad.

She took it. The Seeker only gave it a quick glance. She could pursue it in depth a little later. Always best to start broad, then narrow things down.

"Thank you. I'll go pay the boys and your good _zhectla_ a visit, get any little tidbits from them, and get right to it."

"I'll leave you to it, then. I expect this scraplet in cuffs and in a cell by the time this over. Don't disappoint me."

She smiled: "Now come on. When have I _ever_ failed to deliver the goods to you, _Herr Kommandant_?" She offered a playful salute, hip to one side.

Corpselight chuckled raucously and waved her out, she giving him one last playful salute. It was true. He couldn't recall any instance where the Seeker had failed on a job concerning his precinct, not counting cold cases of course. Cold cases were usually transferred over to Praxian or Iaconian precincts. She was always very thorough in whatever case she decided to look into or was requested to help with. That was what he liked about her. That femme had true Kaonian stubbornness in her.

* * *

Lowrider stood at his kiosk sifting through a massive list of first-time and repeat dealers. He was searching for ones that had sold anything more dangerous than Thallium in the past. Nucleon was hard to acquire and the artificial kind was hard to make, so only three popped up with those algorithms. The Thallium Only algorithm bore more results. Unfortunately, too many. He flicked through each one's rap sheets in turn, trying to find a connection. Pit, he didn't even know if Snapdragon's seller was a Cybertronian. There _were_ a spare few reports over the vorns of unscrupulous Velocitronians selling it through intermediaries after paying a visit to Hydrus Four. Curiously enough, Nucleon dealings tended to crop up more frequently around the time of Cybertronian and Velocitronian races. Maybe a correlation there, but there was no proof of causation. Velocitronian crime reports stuck to their planet.

A tapping at his side made him turn. He flashed a debonair smile at the attractive black and red Seeker standing there leaning against the kiosk like a relaxed Panthron.

"Got anything for me?" she asked, smiling back.

His smile turned into a suggestive grin. The Seeker frowned playfully at him.

"Get your processor out of the gutter, sweetie. I'm here strictly on business. No time for this flirt war we've got going. Besides, I told you earlier I'm already taken."

The analyst wasn't willing to drop the suggestion right away: "Oh, dash that to pieces. I've always got time for you, sweet-spark."

' _Well, if he wants to play_ – _let's play._ '

She drew nearer and let a wing brush against him. Two slender hands were placed on his pauldrons as she lingered behind him. She leaned in and whispered, at first suggestively, then with growing seriousness:

"Come on, Low. Tell me. You find anything I could work with? I'd like to avoid relying on my snitches for this. Hoof's been getting suspicious lately. Had to hide away one of them after she nearly got caught by him."

Lowrider winced as the phrase brought him back to grim reality. Much as he wanted to ask which snitch and where he knew better. Thunderhoof had audials all over the city, and statistics showed he had at least one double agent in every Kaonian precinct. Sentenza's network was the most valuable asset the city had. Rule One when working with her was very simple: _don't_ endanger that asset in any way. That applied doubly to the snitches and double agents. Pit, every non-corrupt precinct in Kaon and Iacon knew that! Everyone in the seventh, new recruit or hardened veteran, knew that little motto by spark. So he shifted a little and let her lean over his pauldrons to get a look at the kiosk display, enjoying the little moment of contact with her. She really was lovely...Slagged lucky mech to get a femme like her, whoever he was.

"Hmm. Good start," she proclaimed in satisfaction, "I doubt our crook's among these numbers but it's worth a shot. I'll download these and all information on them if you don't mind..."

"Not at all!" grinned Lowrider.

"And get these to Hun-Gurr when he arrives. If our _sveltok_ is in the system he might be able to match the scent. Thanks, Low!"

The analyst was startled when the Seeker happily smiled, leaned in, and planted a brief kiss on the side of his helm. Then she darted off towards the medical bay. Lowrider stood there stunned as his processor computed what had just happened. A grin formed and a soon laugh escaped his vocalizer. He was humming a tune when he sauntered off to join Highbeam in the field.

* * *

Sentenza came into Elixar's laboratory without even bothering to knock. She found the toxicologist busy running a scanning beam over a seated Snapdragon who was past being simply peeved and getting right up there to impatient. He looked distinctly relieved when the stunning magenta and pale pink femme turned her blue optics away from him in an instant, her pale blue accents shimmering. The scanning beam was shut off.

Elixar smiled and rushed over with a cry of "Darling!" and proceeded to give the Seeker a warm, friendly, and ever so slightly crushing embrace. Sentenza did not return it to the same degree, merely putting a hand on her mantle plating and putting the other around Elixar's frame. Elixar didn't mind. This was a very typical greeting for the detective, one that had been enacted many times before now. She didn't permit attachment in a business as dangerous as hers despite Sentenza knowing her all the way back from police academy. It was just safer to not display it.

"Oh, darling it's been simply ages!" she said in an excited voice, "How goes the business? Fairly rolling in credits and crooks?"

The Seeker managed a small smile at her as she said: "I'm still alive. I got a good income. My network's in one piece. Oh! I also got some of ol' Hoof's weapons smugglers locked away about two deca-cycles ago. Entire ring shut down. In one night. And I got a Praxian cop twirled 'round my little digit." Try as she might to conceal it she couldn't keep a hint of smugness from workings its way into her tone.

The other femme laughed. "Darling, that's wonderful! Who's your Praxian?"

Sentenza winked playfully. "Ah, he likes to stay outta the limelight. He's a homicide investigator though. Slagged one good. I'll introduce you to him at some point. He might visit on another off cycle."

"Oooh! A hommie, is he? And the old darklight's put you with me and the boys! Why, it's just like old times, isn't it?"

"It is, isn't it? So, can you give me the medical details on Snapdragon? What exactly did the Nucleon do to him, and can the damage be fixed?"

In answer to her question she brought up a holographic display of Snapdragon's frame that was semi-transparent, permitting major interior mechanisms to be viewed. Two mechanisms in particular were highlighted in and pulsed with red light: the vocalizer and the t-cog. There were no physical damage readings, but that fit with the symptoms the little dragon mech was displaying. The mechanisms weren't damaged – they had simply stopped functioning altogether. Thus were the unpredictable effects of Nucleon. Elixar clarified:

"Nucleon was taken in to the cistern, processed like regular Energon and distributed throughout his systems. T-cog was affected first and foremost. Something about the volatile chemicals in the stuff reacts negatively with the bio-mechanism. Even if we're still puzzling out why, it's a common side effect after usage. For some reason it then proceeded to cripple his vocalizer of all things, along with his comm. link. He truly is completely mute, unable to speak physically in any way. He could use field glyphs, but that can be a tad difficult. And unfortunately there's a fifty-fifty chance he'll never be able to use any of them again, and that's _with_ a Hydrusian healer."

The look of pure, unadulterated horror on Snapdragon's faceplates was enough make both femmes cringe in sympathy.

"I said fifty-fifty, Snapdragon," Elixar said. "Hydrusian healers are very talented and they've only had some cases where they couldn't fix the issue. There's actually a greater chance they can restore your t-cog over any other mechanisms. Even if they can't completely repair a mechanism they can at least get partial function back."

Snapdragon's expression shifted to acute aggravation. He gave a silent huff, crossed his arms over his little chest, and glowered at them. One digit tapped against his arm mesh. Tap, tap, tap.

"If you don't solve this and find the dealer, I get my credits back!" the mini-con's faceplates seemed to say.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Okay, I kind of lied. Forgot I had this one done from last weekend. So here's some more goodies for you guys! This is another multi-parter. No murders here, just criminal activity.**

 **Also, Clampdown's nervous breakdown in NotB doesn't seem so generic, does it? ;) "She's here, we're dead. She's here, we're dead." He would know that** – **because he saw Her murder an Enforcer before his very optics.**


	12. Chapter 11

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

Part 11: Side Effects Part 2

* * *

Lowrider arrived at the spot where Snapdragon's _sveltok_ deal had gone down. It was a neat little alleyway between two neat apartment complexes. He shook his helm in bewilderment. This wasn't usually where you associated drug deals happening. But maybe that was the point – a patroller would never think to incessantly canvas a nice area of the city like this. Here, they might as well _be_ ghosts. And according to the lovely Sen'za, _sveltok_ deals were never in the same place twice. Maybe their dealer was the smart sort and could play the cops' own instincts and vices against them like a photoharp. Or maybe it had just been chosen at random. Who knew? _Sveltoks_ were an enigma to law enforcement. Always had been.

He slipped past a trio of guards and the holographic cordon (with dashing smile to one of the femmes) to find Highbeam and Hubcap busy at work. The smaller mini-bot mech offered him a grin while Highbeam gave him a disappointed glower as his greeting.

"You _seriously_ need to learn to mind your manners, Low. If you're so good with the femmes you should know when they're not interested. You heard Sen'za. She's already taken. So stop pesterin' 'er for cryin' out loud. I swear that thick processor o' yours just don't compute the word 'No' no matter 'ow many times its thumped into it."

The analyst took the jab in stride, smiling and laughing as he joined him: "Oh, don't be such a _stiff_ , 'Beam. It's always worth a try, innit? And maybe it's only a temporary interest. We both knows Seekers are flighty. A mech can hope. Even you gotta admit she's hotter than a foundry forge, and maybe one of the most intelligent _vontek'tz_ in Kaon."

Highbeam scowled at him and retorted bluntly:

"That's the thing, 'ere. _I_ can admit it while _still_ taking the message. _You_ obviously can't. You're a hopelessly romantic _dunce_ is what you are. You just can't take rejection an' so you keep banging your fat helm against a vault door in the hopes it'll give. Newsflash: it won't."

Lowrider simply laughed again. His desire to court a fetching femme was the aft of jokes and teasing criticism of the entire precinct, but he never let it get to him. In his opinion he'd succeed eventually, so why not just keep on trying? It wasn't like he constantly _harassed_ the good detective with advances. Not at all. He just let her know he was available whenever his work drew him to her, which honestly wasn't as often as he'd like. And despite her warning of being taken she certainly behaved as if she was open to the idea. A flirt war might becomes more than that at some point in the near future; her touch and tone back at the precinct had hinted at it. For someone as busy as she a little "downtime" on an evening would do her a world of good in his opinion.

"Stop grinnin' like a dimwatt and get your aft to work!" Highbeam growled.

Lowrider capitulated, still smiling to himself. "Alright, alright. Primus. Cool your circuits."

They set about analyzing the scene. There was precious little. Incredibly faint traces of energy were in the air, so faint that their scanners almost couldn't pick them up. A quick analysis by Hubcap revealed the energy as coming from a spark, not spilled Energon, but after this time any individual markers had faded away. The mechs wouldn't be using that to identify their _sveltok_ , that was for sure.

Highbeam frowned, rose, and slowly meandered down the alley. His sharp optics flitted around like an Avioid's when on the hunt. He felt for certain there was something here that might help them though he knew not what. A "gut instinct" the humans called it. He did not understand how anything thought related could come from a digestive apparatus but it fit with what he felt. There _was_ something here. He could feel it. But what? The alley had been canvased already by Hubcap and himself, and they hadn't found anything. But he kept on. A brief canvassing could miss things. Tiny things. Overlooked things.

He stopped. There by his right trod was a small gap in the planet's surface plating. About the width of a mini-con's digits, it was something easily looked over during a first sweep; one found them virtually everywhere after all. He tilted his helm to the side quizzically, and the different angle resulted in him seeing something different about this micro-crevice. Highbeam knelt. His analytic holo-visor materialized.

"Oi! 'ubcap!" grunted Highbeam, "Over 'ere!"

The smaller mini-bot mech came. The larger patroller didn't even need to tell the young CSI to get his kit out, the mech simply handing it over and Highbeam taking what he needed from it: a strange instrument with two slender, sword-like long prongs. Highbeam pressed on one part of it and the blades became even slenderer. With utmost caution he slipped the device into the micro-crevice, taking care to keep his hands as still as possible. Within a few moments he had extracted a rather inconspicuous piece of metal no larger and thicker than a cyber-tick's limbs, a bit scratched up on the edges.

Lowrider came over and leaned in inquisitively and asked: "What is it?"

"Not sure. 'ubcap, 'and me that acid dropper."

It was handed over.

Highbeam took it and squeezed one drop onto the sliver of scratched metal. There was an instantaneous sizzle and it began to dissolve. Quickly he shook it and blew to dry the liquid before it could eat the rest of the evidence.

"That eliminates it bein' any upper surface material," he said. "Could be a piece of armor, could be a part of a personal belonging, could be part of a building that got dissolved by a storm some time ago and fell down into the crack," He went over to one of the guards. "Get this to Elixar, would you? She'll know what to do with it."

"Yessir!" said the mini-bot femme. She stowed it and raced off.

"Think there's anything else hiding 'round here?" Lowrider wondered.

His question was met with further searching. But after roughly a straight two breems of searching they came up empty-handed, just as the analyst expected. The sliver could be from their culprit – but it could also be from a wandering tunnel rat. The poor Foundlings were about as common as criminals were in Kaon, and some of their number did unfortunately turn to crime in order to survive. He sincerely hoped their _sveltok_ wasn't one of them. His spark had never been able to take a kid being arrested.

* * *

Whilst waiting for word of Hun-Gurr's arrival, Sentenza occupied herself with reading the full report Corpselight had provided her. Lowrider had pinged her saying there was incoming evidence, so she would remain until it was there it was safely within the confines of Ela's lab. She was curious to what it was they'd found. The analyst hadn't clarified.

' _Slag that mech,_ ' she thought humorously with a smirk, ' _He knows me too well._ '

The report was far more technical than Snapdragon's paraphrased account from earlier. Some of the details made her frown: not only was Snapdragon the leader of a powerful gang in the Towers district of Iacon that provided backing for political personnel in exchange for payment, he also had a tendency to...be a bit presumptuous with the ladies. He'd been arrested more than once in the past for harassment and currently had a restraining order in effect for one femme in particular. That wasn't even to mention he was a prolific purchaser of Polonium powder. There was even a suspicion of him associating with Thunderhoof and his gang. A snarl nearly escaped. Her Predacon yellow optics whipped up and she flashed a disapproving frown at the little mini-con. He noticed it and his optics flashed back in what looked an awful lot like defiance. Her frown deepened. And here she'd thought he was the respectable sort and had given him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it was a good thing he couldn't talk anymore. Pit, maybe the big guy was having some karmic fun with him. He certainly enjoyed doing it with her.

Elixar noticed this silent glowering stand-off. "Ah, ah, ah. A toxicologist's lab is no place for glaring competitions. This is a glare-free lab. Are we clear?"

Sentenza ignored her Academy friend and kept on with her glowering. Snapdragon returned it gladly. Each was issuing a silent challenge to the other. Sentenza finally broke it:

"And you had the _nerve_ to ask a job of _me!?_ " she snapped vehemently, taking a threatening step towards him, "Why I oughta...! I should just give your dirty credits back and –"

Just when she thought the threats might become material the door to Elixar's lab hissed open in a tizzy to permit a stocky young femme minibot in a state of boundless excitement, and the stand-off was drawn to an end – for now, anyway. The young officer darted over to the toxicologist and whipped out a small sliver of acid corroded metal from a small panel-like storage compartment on her arm. Elixar took it between two slender digits and held it up to her optics. One slender brow ridge arced upwards.

"Compliments of the boys, ma'am," she said. "Found it at the site after a second sweep. Said you'd know what to do with it?"

"Indeed I do. Thank you, dear."

' _In more ways than one..._ ' Elixar thought privately, casting a glance at the still bristling detective. She had to wonder what she would've done if she hadn't been in here to act as a deterrent.

The minibot nodded and ducked back out.

Sentenza dropped her silent threats in favor of what her friend now held between her digits. She leaned in and zoomed in on the object; moments later her red analytical visor materialized to match Elixar's own pale pink one. There were strong traces hydroflouric acid on it – tell-tale indicators of a DT. That spoke of Hubcap's kit or else evidence of acid rain. Seeing as the latest storm had been over a three deca-cycles ago, Hubcap's kit made sense. But her visor wasn't exactly equipped for hyper-detailed chemical or molecular analysis. That was the job of a chemist. The Seeker was more of a jack-of-all-trades, well-versed in all aspects of forensic science but not an expert in highly specified fields. Oh, she could manage, but it if she needed something specific done she'd seek out someone who could lend a hand or verify her data.

"What is it, Elly?" she wondered.

"Subsurface mat, obviously," Elixar answered back.

Sentenza snorted: "Thank you, Captain Obvious. Anything else blatant you'd like to point out? Like its color?"

Elixar smiled back. "Oh, hush. You wanted to know what it was. Ask and you shall receive. I'll need to get it under the analyzer to get a look at the molecular structure. That should give us the answer."

She strode over to the machine in question and slipped the sliver into it, then took a seat and peered into the two lenses. Her hands expertly toyed with the setting knobs.

"Ah-ha!"

Sentenza rushed over eagerly. "What? What is it?"

"Armor," Elixar answered triumphantly, "Semi-corroded. A small amount of offline nanites give it away. Poor little dears can't survive without a fuel source for more than a solar cycle. They hang out on the mesh to correct micro-damage, but that's usually only found in Kaonians owing to our storms. I can't tell you much more than that, I'm sorry to say."

"Can you send it to the techs? Maybe they can pull some data off them, find out whose they are? When they went offline?"

Elixar rose and retrieved the sliver from the analyzer, a twinkle in her blue optics.

"Could you be a dear?" She waggled it suggestively.

Sentenza grinned, nicked the sliver out her digits, and raced out the doors in a blur.

Elixar chuckled softly. Good old Sen'za, always on the case and ready to lend a hand to a friend. At the very least she didn't need to worry about her strangling Snapdragon for a while. A tap on the medical berth made her turn. Snapdragon had taken the data pad he was using to communicate and was busy inputting words into it. He held it up. She stepped closer and read it.

" _Is she always like this?_ " she murmured.

A smile broke out.

"Yes, yes she is," she said.

More typing.

 _"She's scary._ "

"Yes," she said again, "Yes, she is."

Again she wondered what precisely might have happened if she hadn't been there to curb the detective's anger. Sen had always had a rigid moral compass when it came to right and wrong for other 'bots, but her liking of unorthodox "against the rules" methods in her work made it seem as if that compass didn't quite extend to her. But she knew Sen. Even if she walked a blurred line she always made the right choice.

* * *

Sentenza quickly slipped into the glistening, spotless, constantly beeping rooms the inhabitants fondly called "the Nerd Labs." It was no Crystal City engineering lab with their sleekly functional designs in architecture, but she could care less about appearances. The 'bots in here might as well be from Crystal City. They knew tech inside and out – and the cheeky buggers made full use of that in setting up harmless pranks on other officers. She'd been the victim of one once. Not even Corpselight was immune to them.

' _Oh, I need to tell the nightlight about that. He'll get a kick outta that for sure,_ ' she thought warmly, ' _Wonder if he has to deal with pranks at his place? Praxians aren't really known for being jokers...but that Mazerunner kid sounded like he might give one a go._ '

"Hotwire!" she called out.

A somewhat physically addled looking pale copper and sun glow yellow mech popped his helm from around the corner. "Present!" His two saffron optics glittered eagerly.

She smiled and held up the sliver from the crime scene. "Got some nanites on this thing. Think you could work your magic on 'em?"

His insect-like antennae-audials perked up. Hotwire was a Formicidoid, a subclass of Insectoid pseudo-beasts, not a true Insecticon. In her mind they were a little cuter than their burlier cousins, and they were also far more articulate and less aggressive. Well, at least the ones she knew of anyway. Hotwire had previously been an electrician over in the small underground colony-city of Frazholn before the precinct had scooped him up for his knowledge of electrical components – even if he did have a bad habit of getting a little too "into" said electronic components. It was he who often pulled electrical pranks on the precinct, especially on the eerie but playful night of _Konemq_ _tz_ _'sovallo_.

"Oooh! Nanites, huh? Don't mind if I do!"

He reached out to take the sliver but she playfully pulled it out of reach. She was a helm or so taller than he was, but her arms were far longer.

"Now, now. What's the magic phrase?" she teased.

Hotwire sighed and said: "May I please have the evidence so I can analyze the residual nanites for data?"

Smiling, she handed it over to him. Hotwire snatched it and scurried off to his personal little section of the labs, clicking happily. Felt like forever since she'd seen him last – and he was as addicted to jolts as ever. She'd distinctly seen some little tendrils of electricity dancing on his frame and across his antennae-audials. Guy took his love of electricity just a tad too far into the realm of "personally hazardous." Even if his frame could handle the surges his feeding caused, his processor wasn't quite so lucky all the time. But usually he was smart enough to know when enough was enough. Usually.

"Ping one of the unit when you get something, yeah?" she called out to him. "Me, Low, Hubcap, Highbeam, and Elixar are on this!"

"Always!" came the cheerful, slightly static-laced replying shout.

"And keep those mits out of the power converters, will you? You'll overdose if you're not careful!"

"Aww! You're tellin' the living circuit breaker to lay off?! You can't do that! You're not the boss!"

Loud sniggering came from the other techies.

"I mean it, zappy! Just for a while!"

"...Fine!"

Shaking her helm and rolling her optics, the Seeker headed back out the doors of the Nerd Labs. Thing with Hotwire was – he was a _li'kim vizt_ : a living lightning rod. He couldn't help sticking his little hands into power converters or storm cells or standing on rooftops in the middle of bad acid storms. Electricity was what kept his body functioning at equilibrium. Why he'd been designed that way she couldn't guess, but the Insectoid took it in stride and then some. Every jolt caused his processor to whir into overdrive, and he often did his best work when that happened.

Everybody had their own preferences she supposed. Hotwire's were just...weirder. And slightly more hazardous.

' _Crazy mech..._ ' she thought fondly.

The doors hissed shut behind her.

* * *

On her way towards the roof her comm. link pinged.

"Yello?"

[Where are you, sweet-spark? It's lonely out here without you...]

She smiled.

"Shut up, Low. I was busy checking with Elly and running a delivery for her. You can stand being away from me for a few breems."

[Oh! good. You got Highbeam's little present, then. What was it?]

She took flight and circled up the massive spiral of metal that led up to the roof. Seekers were almost as common in Kaon as they were in Vos, and despite the acid storms many buildings were often made to accommodate their airborne lifestyle. On reaching the roof she switched back and landed, Predacon yellow optics scanning the skies. She answered back with Elixar's preliminary findings.

[So our _sveltok_ might be Kaonian? Doesn't narrow our field by much, but it's a start anyways.]

"Maybe. I sent it to Hotwire so he could get a look at the nanites; pull some data off them. He'll get back to one of the crew when he finds – WHOAH!"

Sentenza's cry had come because something big and winged swooped low above her like a beefy cargo plane, forcing her to duck. The beast in question was a strange one for sure. She was used to unusual Predacons build by this point in her life and could easily count this one as a Chimeran. It's helm looked like it belonged on a Leonoid, but it also bore curling horns that should've been on a Ramian's helm. Hefty paws tipped with razor claws were in the front, while powerfully built hooves took up the rear. Its long tail was Hissian in design, ending in a spear-tip more suiting of a Draconian. Its wings were definitely Draconian, membranal but immensely muscular, the mesh colored deep "dried blood" red. She hadn't had time to spot a tribal crest, but she had a pretty good idea who that had been. Hard to forget a face and form like that once you saw it.

A Leonoid roar split the sky as it flew off.

[Sen? You there? You okay? What happened?]

"I think I just met Hun-Gurr," she admitted, "Or more accurately he almost knocked me off the roof. Looks like he's headed your way. Get those snacks ready."

[Meet you at the scene?] offered the analyst.

"It's a date, then..." purred the Seeker.

Transforming, she took off after the hefty form of Hun-Gurr. The beast turned to inspect her, offering a roar a little lower in volume than the calling one he'd just used to alert the city. Yellow optics the same color as hers analyzed her as if determining whether or not she could be easily consumed. If she had optics available right then she'd have been giving him a death glare. Hun-Gurr's notorious appetite was fairly well known to her. It was actually a medical condition – his fuel efficiency was dangerously low; about a fourth of the energy he took in was lost in the form of heat. Thankfully he'd never actually gone after a city-dweller...yet.

~ _w_ _arning~_ ~ _a_ _lly_ ~ she flashed at him through her field. Her engine let out a low frequency growl she often used as a show of dominance or power around bigger Predacon mechs. Femmes had to know how to push back against the guys in Predacon society, especially among the Well Guardians. Meekness got you nowhere with them.

Hun-Gurr grunted and averted his gaze. ~ _m_ _emory_ ~ ~ _f_ _riend_ ~ he flashed back. He pumped his wings and soared ahead.

~ _sorry_ ~ came a final field flash.

' _Well, at least he knows how to be polite..._ ' she supposed. That was more than she could say of some other beasts – and even some city-dwellers like herself.

The Seeker followed on his tail until he banked and began to circle above a tidy looking side alley where Lowrider, Highbeam, and the other field officers were canvasing the scene and discussing evidence. His feline helm opened its maw and roared down to alert them. A young femme officer let out a startled shriek.

"Easy!" Sentenza called down. "He won't hurt you! I think he just wants some space to land!"

The officers wisely dispersed towards either side of the alley. Hun-Gurr called down again and circled lower, landing on top of the building that made up the right side of the alley's main street entrance. His red mesh wings tucked and folded in against his side. Front limbs readied like a Felioid about to pounce on unsuspecting prey. The same femme officer who had shrieked before quickly darted behind Lowrider for cover regardless of the fact she was nowhere near the middle of the alley. Sentenza and the officers below her watched in fright and awe as the hulking Chimeran beast leapt off, hit the side of the opposing building, pushed off right after he made contact, repeated the hit-and-push a second time, and gracefully landed in the middle of the alley with a ground-trembling thud.

He sniffed at the air and the hulking brute of a beast focused right away on Hubcap, snuffing at him. In a surprisingly gentle display he butted the mech with his horns.

"Mech..." Sentenza prompted.

"Oh!" Hubcap realized, "Heh. Sorry."

A hand fished into his subspace and brought out a deactivated scraplet that was quickly tossed at the beast. Hubcap couldn't help flinching at the jaws snapping down around the little creature in the time it took an optic to shutter. He did _not_ want to see what those jaws could do to a 'bot. He knew for a fact that Leonoids were ranked in the top spots as having the most bite force out of any Predacon build, Draconians and Canipids right up there with them. One report he remembered distinctly: the Leonoid in question (who had volunteered for the test) had snapped right through double-reinforced bruiser armor like it was nothing more than a thin sheet of aluminum.

Sentenza leapt off the building and landed among the officers. She clicked her vocalizer a few times, making Hun-Gurr turn to her.

"Right. I got some files for you to put into your data banks, big guy. We need to find out who was in this alley a few nights ago; got a Nucleon dealer to snag. Since you Preds are so great at tracking once you have an Energon sample to work with..."

Hun-Gurr grunted and came over to her. She held out a datapad and observed in silence as the beast downloaded all the necessary files with no more difficulty than if it had been a regular city-dweller performing the act. Unbeknownst to the others, however, she had added one more file. When finished he backed away into the middle of the alley. His yellow optics flashed. The beast's serpentine tail swished violently two times. He suddenly seemed on high alert, maw open. He was suddenly cycling air faster. Sentenza had seen enough hunters on the prowl to know precisely what he was doing. There were things Predacon sensory systems could pick up that only added technology allowed for a city-dweller to detect. It just was one of a slew of things about their race that fascinated her.

"Back, 'bots. Back," Lowrider said. "Give 'im some space."

All the officers wisely backed away. Hun-Gurr walked around in a wide oval around where he'd landed. His yellow optics continued to flash as he flipped through the provided database of unique Energon samples. Grunts and growls emerged from his helm. His ellipses broadened until he was pacing up and down the alleyway. Again and again and again his optics flashed. None of the officers nor the Seeker rushed him. They were after accuracy.

After about two straight breems of pacing and tagging, Hun-Gurr stopped abruptly. The flash in his optics that had occurred a moment beforehand had been brighter than the others. He growled.

"Got something?" demanded Lowrider.

A growl and a nod was his answer. But rather than clarify right away who they were, the beast nudged Hubcap again. The mech surrendered a razorsnake to him. Then Hun-Gurr explained:

"Snapdragon was here," he said.

Lowrider smirked: "No surprise there, Hunny. He was the buyer."

Hun-Gurr growled at the interruption and the less-than-desirable nickname. Lowrider's mouth wisely snapped shut. He looked to the side to see Sentenza with a hand on her forehelm, shaking her helm slowly like an exasperated Guardian. He got the message: don't get overly friendly with the giant killer garbage disposal because he might just _eat you_ to get you to shut up.

"The other trace was that of a repeat offender named Relapse. Recently released on good behavior?" There was a growl in his voice that told he was less than happy about that last fact. "Has a brother named Synapse – a psychologist?"

Sentenza's hands clenched. She knew who he was. Drug-dealing and possession of illegal substances were what comprised most of his rap sheet. She'd heard a few rumors from her snitches that he was supposed to be an underling for Thunderhoof, but she'd never been able to substantiate the claim. The credits he got from drug deals seemed to have either disappeared entirely or else were spent by him on things like Polonium powder or basic necessities _._ Dead ends.

' _Perhaps I might get more out of him...?_ ' a minuscule part of her purred suggestively.

"Don't even think about it..." she mumbled. Angrily she shoved back at the Demon. Hissing, She withdrew.

"Hm? You say something there, Sen?" Lowrider inquired.

"Nothing," she lied. "We have Relapse's last known location on file. If you don't mind too much we'd like you to stick around, Hun-Gurr. We might be needing your tracking prowess a second time."

Highbeam finished with: "Because knowing that guy he won't be where he's supposed to be."

The Chimeran beast grunted and nodded.

* * *

KAON'S EAST QUADRANT  
COMMUNITY CENTER #2

Lowrider had to admit that having a giant Chimeran lead the way really helped clear up the roads for them. Of course, they'd groundbridged back to headquarters and from there had 'bridged a few blocks away from where Relapse had last been seen, so wasn't like there was a ton of road to go down. But that got him thinking that Preds might make _real_ good riot suppressors. They were big, they were strong, and they were more intimidating than the burliest of Contrail's Enforcers. Everything you needed wrapped up in one package.

' _But,_ ' he admitted grimly, ' _t_ _hey're on rocky enough footing as is. Making 'em riot suppressors might demonize the poor buggers even more._ '

The building they were headed to loomed before them like a great bunker. It was a place for younger 'bots to gather and help out their fellow 'bots, and it also served as a safe play haven for foundlings and tunnel rats alike. He'd been to a few as a sparkling. Academy students, sparklings, and layabouts could all gather together under one roof. But it also served as a place for released crooks to serve the community as a debt for their misdeeds. Only minor offenders were allowed, and they were usually under pretty constant supervision. Emphasis on "usually." Because in Kaon, "rules" tended to be viewed more as "recommendations" than actual orders. And with a lot of Kaonian precincts either infiltrated or outright corrupt it was no wonder crooks were running around without a leash.

Hun-Gurr grunted and went ahead of them. Lowrider noticed he was rapidly drawing in bursts of air.

"You smell him?" he demanded.

"Hnn," grunted the beast, "Yes. But he is not in the building."

"Where is he?" Hubcap pressed.

"Behind it."

The three officers and the Seeker needed no more incentive than that to split into pairs and circle around the building from either side. Highbeam's engine growled in tandem with Hun-Gurr's vocalizer. He drew his pistol. It would be much easier for Relapse to run and hit the streets if he were outside, and if he felt threatened he might react negatively. And so, slowly, the chaser and the beast paused just around the southeast corner of the building. Highbeam looked at the beast beside him, motioning silently. ~ _react_ ~ ~ _swift_ ~ Hun-Gurr nodded. Ambush tactics like this were commonly used to startle packs of flash-ferrets out of their tunnels and into the open air.

['Bots? You in position?]

[Just waiting for the word.] replied the detective.

[All systems go!] joked Lowrider.

[Yep.] came Hubcap's answer.

He explained his plan. Confirming pings returned. Everyone was on board. Silently Highbeam motioned at Hun-Gurr. Growling, the beast surged out into the open space. Shouts came from the some of the Seekers playing a game of _K'tek_ in the skies while anyone on the ground darted out of the way, similarly startled. Hun-Gurr zeroed in on a scraggly grey and white mech scrambling to his pedes and making to run. With a roar he leapt, knocked the mech to the ground, and pinned him.

The mech shrieked.

* * *

"Please! Don't eat me!" Relapse shrieked.

Hun-Gurr growled and leaned in, his fanged maw a mere three inches from the mech's faceplates. He sniffed. Yes, the scent matched that at the drop off site. His growl earned another frightened sound and the mech's hands went up to shield his face, legs hunching up to make himself as small a target as he could.

"Down kitty!" came a female voice print. "Don't eat that! It's bad for you!"

The mech peered through his digits to see an exotically built black Seeker femme jog forward from one side of the building. Right behind her trailed three cops. His optics widened. The femme didn't look like a cop to him – her well-maintained and polished frame clashed with the other mechs. "Pretty" didn't even come close to describing her right; he had to admit that. He was even more intrigued when the massive beast pinning him down grunted and removed itself from him.

He blinked. "Huh?" His tense frame loosed up. Most Preds didn't listen to city dwellers, so she had to be _something_ to get a beast this guy's size to obey her instantly. Pit.

"Well, well," hemmed one of the cops, "I'm surprised we actually found you here."

"Relapse?" asked another of the mech cops. "We'd like a word with you."

"And don't try to run," warned the third grimly, "Hun-Gurr and detective Sentenza will floor you before you even get a klick away from here and we'll drag your aft back to the station for a formal interrogation. Of course, that's if our beast here doesn't _eat_ you first."

He believed it.

"W-What do you wanna know?" Relapse stammered nervously.

The Seeker drew nearer and knelt. Perhaps she could take a page out of Counterforce's repertoire.

"For starters, we'd like to know where you got that Nucleon you sold to Snapdragon a couple solar cycles ago. He had some pretty disastrous side effects and wants his credits back."

Relapse blinked again. "What?"

Hun-Gurr growled and approached. He sensed the boy was playing dumb with them. Bad idea.

"I-I-I didn't make if that's what your asking!" he stammered. "I-I just delivered it! Honest! I-I don't even know how to make it! I've given up the drug trade, I swear! It's too risky!"

One of the mechs snorted disbelievingly. He had every right to, he guessed. He'd said that a lot of times in the past yet he had always gone back to it whenever he got a little short on credits or wanted a high to forget his troubles. But what that cop didn't know was that Synapse was helping him kick the habit. A psychologist knew ways of re-wiring the processor.

Sentenza's manipulative smile emerged. Her voice was a purr when she asked who the chemist was. Relapse stared at her for a moment, unblinking.

"I don't know who it is –" Relapse began slowly. "But if you let me, I can help you catch 'em. No tricks. Promise. Like I said, I'm never drug dealing again. Getting a hit put on me was too much. I don't wanna die."

The Seeker's manipulative smile faltered and morphed into a frown. She went over the data on Relapse. That wasn't in his file. At all.

"A hit? Who set it?" she demanded. "Why didn't you come forward about it?"

"Because unlike you cops I don't know who's corrupt in this town. If I told the wrong guy, I would be a dead mech. I kept my mouth shut. I like being alive."

One of the officers seemed to unbend at that statement. He offered him a hand and helped him up.

"There is a little thing called 'witness protection' in case you didn't know," he said. "You help us catch this dealer, we'll give it to you. Call it a favor for a favor, yeah?"

Relapse looked between the officers for a split astrosecond or two. These guys sure didn't act corrupt. Actually, they acted pretty much like regular cops. But how could he be sure Thunderhoof hadn't gotten to them – paid them off? The Seeker seemed to notice his suspicion. The smile that came back was less manipulative and more sincere.

"Look. I make it a point of honor to annoy Thunderhoof as much as possible, even if it means working with 'crooks.' So do these guys. Over half those honest-to-Primus busts you read about in the media come from the seventh precinct and me. We _don't_ work for him. We work on getting him into a cell. If you really have turned over a new leaf, help us and we'll get you the help and protection you need."

A moment's pause ticked by. Then:

"Alright. Deal."

The pact was sealed by a shake of the hand. The officer's hand withdrew to touch his audial.

"Lowrider here. Got something for me, zappy?" A pause. "Right. Mhm...Wait, what?...Alright, alright...No, yeah. We found the _sveltok's_ little helper. We're on our way back. Get the old darklight on deck, would you?"

The hand was lowered.

"Come on. Hotwire's made a break through. And we need to get this hit reported to the chief."

* * *

KAON'S SEVENTH PRECINCT  
THE NERD LABS

After Relapse had been duly handed over to the custody of their commanding officer and Hun-Gurr released from service, Sentenza, Highbeam, Hubcap, and Lowrider made their way back into the realm of the tech savvy.

Hotwire greeted them as soon as they stepped across the threshold. Grabbing Lowrider's hand like an eager child, Hotwire proceeded to drag him to his little sectioned-off domain. There on a table lay the sliver found in the deceptively nice looking alleyway earlier. Beside it and zoomed thanks to a special lensed device beneath which they lay was a tiny collection of degraded nanites.

"So what'd you find for us, zappy?" Sentenza demanded. "Low didn't spill the oil on the way over."

"Took some work on my part," began Hotwire a bit smugly, "but I did manage to find a nanite that wasn't so badly damaged as its little friends. Now, as you all hopefully know thanks to your anatomy classes at the Academy, nanites act as itty-bitty repair mechs, and they all operate on the same frequency as their pals. That means if one finds a micro-fracture or misaligned T-cog bristle or what have you the ones nearest the damage react like a hive of scraplets and mob the area. More will come as needed. Those frequencies are tagged by precincts because each is unique. But the point here is this: I managed to tune into that frequency, and the little guy tried to signal its buddies. Put that signal into the system and –"

He motioned to his kiosk which blinked to life as if in answer to his prompt. A sketch was displayed: a gangly femme bearing a distinct rat-like appearance, much the worse for wear. The name beneath it read: _Malevalace_.

Sentenza drew up to the kiosk and read the details.

"Wanted for multiple drug-related incidents...potentially in the employ of wanted crime boss, Thunderhoof, or else an associate..."

Her fists clenched at that. She read onwards:

"Unknown if she works alone or with a group...has thus far evaded capture...Warning: extremely skilled with mind-altering and toxic chemicals. Officers who went to her last known residence were met with a trap that exposed them to gaseous Tox-En merged with..." There followed a short list of dangerous or hallucinogenic chemicals and their effects on the officers. "Current location unknown, but Predacons have reported odd smells and sounds coming from the tunnels and subways."

"Well. Lovely femme, isn't she?" deadpanned Hubcap sarcastically.

Lowrider looked at the Seeker as she pulled back from the kiosk. "How do you wanna play this, sweet-spark?"

Highbeam glowered at him but didn't say anything. He respected the Seeker's prowess too much to snap. He stood up straighter when the Seeker turned to address him.

"'Beam, there any way you could pull up the reports from those Preds? We might be able to narrow down our field of search if we know where those smells and sounds were reported. Their sensory systems are spectacular. Furthermore, criminals like to stick to _patterns_ if they know they _work_ , and she'll probably stick to certain areas since she's familiar with them, feeling she's got the home field advantage."

The mech nodded. "Can do."

Sentenza went on: "Hotwire, would it be possible for you and the nerds to tune into the receiving signal that nanite is getting back? Could you pinpoint her using that?"

"Well..." considered the Formicidoid slowly, "the signal they put off isn't like a satellite signal in strength, and we don't have access to a satellite designed to amplify signal strength on biological components – no one does; satellites or any long-range equipment like that don't even _exist..."_

Sentenza's faceplates fell.

"But –" He held a digit up. "We should be able to at least determine where she is if she's within a certain radius around the precinct."

"How large?"

"Fifteen klicks. Maybe twenty?" answered one of Hotwire's colleagues, "But why not just get a Pred to track Malevalace down?"

"Take note of the fact that Hun-Gurr didn't pick up her scent at the scene," reminded the Seeker dryly, "Considering that and Malevalace's skill with chemicals it's not a stretch to think she's prepped for a potential Pred intruder. For example, something that smells foul to us would smell utterly rancid to them, giving good enough reason for them to avoid it. That's not to mention it would override their olfactory sensors. Even their chemical tracking systems, which Hun-Gurr used to locate Relapse, can be tricked by injecting large amounts of foreign substances into the body over time that significantly alter the chemical composition of the target's Energon. In simple terms, that makes them an _entirely different target_."

The colleague blinked. "Oh."

"Wait, wait, wait..." Sentenza motioned for everyone to shut up. "Altering chemical composition...Altering scent...You don't think...?"

The higher ranking officers all looked at each other.

"She would've needed a sample from him..." said Highbeam.

Lowrider nodded: "Right excuse, easy enough to get."

"I'll go check with Elly. Sample means she needed a mesh breach of some kind in order to get his Energon. She's a toxicologist with basic medical training. She wouldn't have looked for anything like that, or if she found it she may have assumed it was a left over breach from some other drug injection in the past. Got the feeling the guy's not a stranger to things like LJ."

Sentenza ran out. Highbeam went with her. Hubcap bore a confused expression, helm and one hand whipping between the now closed door and the other mechs in the room with him.

"...What...what just happened?"

Hotwire and his pals broke out laughing. Lowrider joined them.

"Well, best get to work, 'bots!" said Hotwire cheerfully. "We got a rat to catch!"

* * *

 **Author's Note: I like 3 parters for this kind of thing. :)**

 **Also, meet Hun-Gurr the Chimeran and Hotwire the Insectoid!**

 ***Malevalace's name is a merging of "malevolence" and "lace," as in lacing a drink with something.**


	13. Chapter 12

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

Part 12: Side Effects Part 3

* * *

"Kid had a hit put on him you say?" repeated Corpselight in faintly concealed surprise.

Hubcap nodded sharply once. He reported word for word what Relapse had said. Frankly, he didn't blame him for not coming forward. As he'd said, he didn't have the privilege of investigators and hadn't the faintest idea who was pure or corrupt in this city. For a kid with a drug-based rap sheet and a history of usage that silence was a smart and very sane decision to make. But in the long run it could cost him he argued. Thunderhoof had optics and audials all over Kaon, every good cop knew that, and if he put a hit on someone his hitter always carried it through, regardless of whether or not it was the smart thing to do. They needed to get him under their protection so they could be ready when the hitter (or multiple hitters) came knocking.

Corpselight grunted. That was the sad part about this city: when crimes did happen, folk had no idea who to trust with the report and deemed it better to shut their lip-plates and hope it didn't happen again. And the sadder part was that, with hits, the poor sap was usually found dead later on because of that hesitation. This had to be the only city on the face of the planet where you could die if you spoke up and die if you didn't.

"We still don't know what he's done with those missing credits, though," admitted the younger mech, "but I think we should focus on that later."

"Right then. We'll let him stay here until we get this drug case wrapped up. Boy's helping us either way. The barracks has an empty berth or two, I believe. No hitter would be addled enough to attack someone surrounded by my 'bots, not in the middle of my precinct," A dangerous grin broke out on Corpselight's faceplates then. He went on: "Especially not if I bring in a Well Guardian as an extra set of senses. Not even old 'Hoof's dumb enough to mess with those beasts. He tried puttin' a hit on one a while back. Hitter made it back to him alright – in pieces."

"Hun-Gurr's still here. Could we use him?" Hubcap wondered.

"Don't see why not," said the burly tank-former. "Predaking said he'd keep us stocked with prey, but I think we could offer him some of the Energon in our joint. We have a rations dispenser. Wouldn't want to make them run to and fro delivering snacks to him. Even Runners need a break every now and again."

The younger mech nodded and left.

Corpselight resumed his study of the data pads on his desk. No matter how bleak the odds his precinct would keep working. Until someone took 'Hoof down and his empire of deceit crumbled around him like talc...the most good honest precincts could do was just keep helping the people. After all, that was the task of a law officer – keep the peace, help the people, and bring honest justice to wrongdoers and victims alike.

* * *

Elixar nearly jumped when the doors hissed open and Sentenza bounded in. Snapdragon on the other hand _did_ jump a little.

"Back so soon?" she wondered.

"You ran a full exterior scan on him as well, right?" demanded Sentenza quickly.

The toxicologist blinked in surprise. That wasn't what she'd expected the Seeker to come back in here for.

"I'm the toxicologist, darling. If you want the full medical details, inside and out, Tumulus was the one who performed the medical scans. All I did was show the interior one he provided me with so I could understand the damage the Nucleon had done. I didn't personally find anything on his mesh, but I'm not a trained medical examiner. Why? Something come up?"

Rather than answer, Sentenza's attention shifted to the mini-con in the room. Anger flickered in her subdued field. Her wings were held sharply in a clear display of aggression.

"You met Malevolace at some point before the drop-off, or if not her an accomplice. No one else's scent was at the drop-off site – only yours and Relapse's, and he said all he'd done was deliver the stuff to the location. Unlike you, I believe him. Talk, or I'll make you. I don't like liars. Did the 'bot you meet with ask for an Energon sample?"

Snapdragon looked astounded for an astrosecond or two before grabbing the data pad and typing in. Silently he handed it to her.

 _It was some rat-looking femme. Dunno what her name was. Didn't ask. About a deca-cycle before the drop off she asked for me to meet her in one of the old War tunnels. I would've kept the coordinates but the message self-deleted. She didn't say much, but she wanted a small sample of my Energon to make sure the chemical balance and dosage was right, or something like that. Don't know much about drug chemists. After she got the sample she let me go. Never saw her again. What's it matter? I want my creds back. Have you found the dealer or not?_

Sentenza frowned and growled dangerously, one fist clenching. Wordlessly she spun and made for the doors, which hissed open to permit her exit. The faint clang that echoed after they sealed bore a certain grim finality, like a coffin being sealed. Elixar was more encouraged to recieve a data packet from the Seeker detailing a chemical booby trap their perp had used. The Seeker didn't even need to ask to know what she wanted her to do with the information.

"Well, now you've done it," said Elixar. "You slagged her off. You are officially doomed, darling."

Snapdragon quickly input another message onto the datapad. He held it up for her to read:

 _How was I supposed to know that was just a pretense? I don't know anything about nucleon other than the effects. I'm no chemist._

Elixar had to admit she was completely on Sentenza's side here. Snapdragon should've mentioned this from the start. Resources could have been spared.

"You'll have plenty of time to come up with a legitimate business once you've been in a cell for a couple of centuries. Sentenza only goes easy on somebody if she knows they're innocent, been manipulated into helping, or have some semblance of good in them. You, sadly, fit none of those categories. So enjoy your freedom while it lasts."

* * *

Highbeam busily scoured through various reports concerning odd smells and sounds coming from the subways. Indeed, over ninety percent of them came from Predacons – though a few originated from tunnel-rats or line workers. And while they appeared to be somewhat scattered they seemed to stick to the area around the Delta line that crossed the East Quadrant where old War tunnels intersected the modern ones. Most of those had been blocked off but some hadn't been for historical reasons. Above ground was a series of lower-middle class neighborhoods that, though they saw their fair share of crime, were not exactly a crime-ridden area like the South Quadrant tended to be. It was quite a distance from where the Nucleon had been dropped off, and quite a distance from the precinct, too. Hotwire probably wouldn't be able to get a reading that far out.

' _Odd place for a drug dealer to set up shop..._ ' he thought. ' _Not like most of the 'bots there could easily afford 'er stock._ '

Hmm. In hindsight her locale might make strategic sense however. Those War tunnels were perfect to set up shop, and if she managed to burrow her way into one of the blocked off ones – well, no regular 'bot would have reason to look in there, eh? Strategically such a place was well defended, and if she had indeed tunneled her way that path could be easily booby-trapped. _She'd_ be able to avoid the traps because she would know where they were and how not to set them off. An invader wouldn't.

"So?" a female voice asked.

He stood to the side to show the Seeker (who looked a trifle irritated) where the reports came from and his theory about where her lair might be.

"Makes sense. These reports are a bit spaced both in location and in time-scale out but I see the correlation. She's sticking around that area; there's only a few in other Quadrants," A hand rubbed her chin-plate. "That's still a lot of area to cover though. There's no way to narrow it down further?"

"Not unless a Predacon were to come in right this instant and tell us what the others have: odd smells, odd sounds; things like that."

And none came.

Sentenza let out a little sigh of disappointment. "Great."

"We still 'ave Hun-Gurr," he reminded her. "'er Energon composition might not be on file, but 'e can still track by scent. All 'e has to do is find those odd smells the other Preds 'ave reported which we now 'ave a region of 'igh probability for. And remember, 'otwire and the techies 'aven't gotten back yet. They may get lucky. Reverse psychology – last place you'd think to look is right under your chin guard and all that."

She gave him that. But she also admitted she wasn't halting her fans. Malevolace was smart if she could avoid the cops for this long. Booby traps were just one of her tactics. They all would have to be careful when they went out to find her – especially if his theory was true about where she was hiding.

"I gave Elly the composition of that chem bomb and some potential other chems that she might put in a trap. If anyone sets a chem trap off when we're out there Elly should have a means of counteracting it in short order."

"Not an inoculation per say but an antidote after the fact?" Highbeam asked.

She nodded.

He smiled wryly. Always this femme was one step ahead of the game. He couldn't really blame 'Low for trying to win her. He did wonder who she was seeing though. Perhaps she'd let that slip to Elixar; he'd ask, but slagged if he shared the info with 'Low. Sen deserved some privacy in her romantic life.

Their comm. links pinged.

"Hotwire? Talk to us. You get anything?"

[Not really. We got a kind of...I dunno. Some kinda "phantom" hit about ten klicks away but we're not sure if that's a bug in our equipment or a false signal. Could be another bunch of nanites that fell off due to an injury, which could show she was in the area. I say we check that out since it's nearer before we check where those Pred reports came from. We could split our forces and some check one place and some check others. We got the mech power for it, right?]

Highbeam saw the Seeker's focus shift. A hand went to her audial. "Yeah?" she asked. She blinked then.

"Gotta go." she said.

The Seeker left.

* * *

Sentenza found Relapse, Hubcap, and Corpselight in the rec room sitting at one of the tables. The scraggly mech still looked wary and nervous.

"And here she is. Right on cue," Corpselight said with a smile. "I know she and Hun-Gurr gave you a bit of a fright in the field, and while she's not officially one of my officers I employ her as an outside source of information. You won't find a more honest femme in all of Kaon, or a better private detective."

The Seeker smiled and rolled her optics. "Flattery gets you everywhere, chief. You're too good for me."

Corpselight chuckled raucously, but he warned Relapse to be honest in return. He motioned for Sentenza to take a seat but she declined and remained standing. An optic flicked to the side on hearing the heavy pedes and low snuffling of Hun-Gurr, spotting him just as he passed by the entrance. Relapse spotted him and tensed, his tension only growing when the beast came in and sniffed around until he found the dispenser. Multiple pairs of optics widened when he grabbed a cube in his maw, filled it – and quickly swallowed the ration, cube and all. Grunting, he passed by Relapse, gave him a cursory sniff, and went on his way like what he'd done was totally normal. Hubcap stifled a laugh.

"And you can order that guy around?" Relapse breathed whilst staring at the Seeker. "What _are_ you?"

The Seeker smiled a bit forcibly and said: "That's something I'm working out myself."

Corpselight revved his vocalizer, reminding him he was here to help catch a drug dealer. Relapse nodded and began shakily:

"Right. Um. I got a message from her over my comm. link for that drop-off – just a data packet telling me where to meet her."

"How did you come to meet her?" Corpselight grunted.

"Uh, I got told by a buddy in the big house that there was a drug dealer out there who paid good creds for simple jobs. Told me to look in a couple of places to find her 'cause she moved around a lot, and she was more likely to hire me if I looked for her and found her. Guess that was true enough. She hired me alright."

Sentenza pounced on the statement in an instant. She put her hands on the table and leaned forward excitedly. "Where did you find her?"

Relapse shrank back before answering: "I-I met her in an old War tunnel. I-I don't remember where it was..."

Corpselight frowned. That sounded like a lie, but maybe it was because he was scared.

"But i-it was near a subway tunnel in the East Quadrant," Relapse added quickly, "I remember 'cause I heard a mag-lev train go by while I was talkin' to her. I-I don't remember the line. I wasn't paying attention. Tau...? Or, no. Maybe it was...?"

"Delta perhaps?" Sentenza suggested.

A light seemed to go off in the mech's helm.

"Delta! Yeah! That was it! I think I passed a sign that said that! I met her near one of the Delta lines!"

The Seeker shared a glance with the chief. He grinned.

"Think you could show my officers where?" asked the burly tank-former.

"I-I think I can retrace my steps."

"Well, then. I'll gather the troops."

With that, Corpselight rose and issued a piercing whistle that rang throughout the precinct and over his open comm. link. Right after that he bellowed out the names of the officers on the case bar Elixar using language that should've been coming out of the mouth of a hard-aft War commander. Startled, Relapse clapped his hands over his audials, but he was smiling at little. Everyone in this precinct was wild – and he kinda liked it. He felt he could trust them with his intel and his life.

And that wasn't a thing you gave to a Kaonian precinct lightly.

* * *

 _EAST QUADRANT, KAON_

The East Quadrant of Kaon ran alongside a wide river of Energon that the refineries in the north made full use of. It wasn't as fume-filled as the North was, but it wasn't exactly a high-end area either like the North Quadrant of Iacon. It was a strange area of twilight truths and secret whispers beneath the honest folk making an honest living. Here, crime wasn't displayed out in the open – it was far more reclusive and careful. Fences, drug-dealers, and intel peddlers were the norm here.

And it was the place where Relapse and his brother had grown up. This was home.

He jogged his memory banks again, trying to retrace his steps. He cursed his use of Polonium powder now – Synapse had warned him again and again that it caused memory files to deteriorate but he hadn't listened. He'd _wanted_ to forget. And now it was costing him.

"Smell anything funny yet, Hun-Gurr?" the cop named Lowrider asked.

The hulking brute of a beast lifted his snout and snuffed.

"Nothing yet," he admitted in his growl-y voice. "Might need to be closer. She may not be cooking today. The fumes might be weaker."

Relapse winced. He had to hope he wasn't earning the anger of the officers, because they probably trusted the Pred more than him. He looked around until he spotted something he felt was familiar: an old medical dispensary turned into a clinic. He thought he remembered that clinic. He led them down the road to one of the subway entrances marked with the Delta symbol. It seemed to jog his memory and that section of the night's search flashed before his optics with vivid clarity, so suddenly that he froze mid-step and gasped softly:

 _A light acid rain sprinkled from above, the clouds blocking most of the starlight. The glow of Luna-1 shone from behind a thick cloud bank. He repeated the advice the other convict had given him: if he wanted the job, he had to find the employer. There were a few safe-houses she worked out of, and he'd checked two before now only to find them empty. He was hoping tonight his luck held out. He needed the cash for rent.  
_

 _He looked around. Across the way was the dingy little clinic, its neon sign lopsided and missing a letter. Checking for observers, he darted across the way and into the safety of the subway. He knew better than to be out in the open in the middle of the night_ – _the night was Her realm. If he got caught there would be no mercy, no second chances. Just swift death. He knew the stories as well as any Kaonian. Idly he noted the triangle on the subway sign as he slipped into the tunnel.  
_

Someone tapped his pauldron.

"You okay?" the mini-bot Hubcap wondered.

"Yeah," Relapse said. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just...memory reboot sorta thing. We're going the right way."

Down they went into the depths of the subway. A train sped past on its way to a station. He glanced to the side to see the Seeker's arms folded in such a way as to make it look like she was cold. She seemed more nervous all of a sudden, yellow gaze flicking around warily.

"Wait...you're claustrophobic?" he realized. Then why the heck had she some? She'd known they were going underground.

"N-No..." Sentenza said. She corrected herself almost right away: "Sort of. I try to avoid being underground. Not as much room to fly or fight. It's a coding quirk with us Seekers. A lot of fliers have it actually."

But the funny thing was that he felt he was being told a half-truth. Hanging around crooks for most of your life made you pretty good at figuring out when someone wasn't being totally honest. The Seeker was hiding something. From the sudden look the Highbeam guy gave her he had a feeling he'd caught the half-truth as well, but he didn't ask about it. None of the cops did. Maybe they respected her too much to go nosing into her business, and that seemed pretty sensible: don't go snooping into the life of someone who could order around a constantly hungry beast like a friend.

Relapse led them alongside the mag-lev track for a while, passing or taking footpaths and the spotting occasional vagrant or civilian. A few did double takes at the burly Hun-Gurr but most didn't even give the group a second glance. Nothing felt familiar, and after a while he slowed to a stop. No one was around where they were. Had he gone the wrong way?

"Well?" Highbeam prompted.

He blinked. "Uh..."

He looked around desperately, thinking back on everything he'd passed up till this point. Panic began to rise. What if the cops thought he was leading them on a wild grease chase? Synapse would be so upset if he heard he was in a cell again, especially right after he'd given him his solemn promise.

Then he spotted something familiar: an old bit of anti-political graffiti. A Decepticon crest lay just beneath it.

He remembered that graffiti. He remembered it because it was near to where he'd met the chemist.

"This way."

He led them down a side-tunnel that looked like it's only occupants were retro-rats and glitch-mice, distinctly older looking than the ones they'd been in so far.

"Re-purposed War tunnel..." Highbeam realized.

"Seems your little theory was right, 'Beam!" Lowrider congratulated.

"Sssh!" Relapse hushed fervently, "Thinking."

He paused again. Why was the graffiti so familiar? He'd passed it by or seen it. How close were they to Malevalace?

Something tugged at the back of his mind. His gaze wandered to a section of the wall that looked older than the rest. Something about it didn't look right, but he couldn't place it. He pointed to it.

"There. Could you get your friend to ram that wall, detective?"

The officers looked at him funny, Sentenza in particular. Hun-Gurr was the only one to look at him as if he were onto something. The hulking beast snuffed at the air before galumphing over to the wall. He bucked, threw his helm back, and smashed it into the wall, and it bent inward with a hollow bang. Encouraged, the beast repeated the act a second time, the resounding bang echoing down the tunnel like a cannon shot. Unable to take the punishment any more, the wall buckled and collapsed inward to reveal a dim passage that looked like it had partially collapsed. Hun-Gurr shook his helm and backed up, snorting, but otherwise he seemed fine.

"Gotta love Ramians, huh?" declared Hubcap. He tossed the beast another scraplet.

"Acid would've been quieter..." Sentenza deadpanned. "If she or any helpers didn't know we were on her tail pipe, they probably do now."

Relapse winced. Oops.

"Well, did anyone have acid on them?" he asked.

Some shared glances. Helms were shaken.

"Maybe it was quieter than it sounded...?" he offered weakly.

The Seeker drew the bar on her hip and extended it to form a long pole. She went first into the partially collapsed tunnel. Again Relapse got the sense she was wary of more than just the confined space. There was something in the way she moved now. Not once did she tread near the darkest shadows, avoiding them as if they were rigged with invisible mines. She stopped a few steps in and turned back to them, silently motioning them all to follow.

Nervously, Relapse followed after her, and the officers and the beast came behind him.

* * *

Despite her loathing of criminals, repeat offenders in particular, Sentenza did have to admit that Relapse was perceptive – dangerously so. This was someone, when he really wanted to, could absorb a lot about his surroundings. Too bad that potential had been wasted on drug-dealing and a Polonium addition. Repeat offenders usually didn't warrant much in the way of second chances with her, but maybe that was because he'd had a bad background, hadn't had as many options in life.

' _He's a criminal and someone who might guess the truth. Remove him_.'

Her lip-plates curled into a snarl but no sound came out. The noise was purely mental. Repeat offender or not she would never betray the trust of the seventh precinct by killing someone under their protection who was currently busy helping them. There were moral codes even She had to abide by.

' _And what of ulterior motives? He could be working for Thunderhoof or another criminal. We already know he worked for Malevalace._ '

' _He had a hit put on him by Thunderhoof you sick glitch. Unlike Snapdragon I believe him. Only reason Relapse'd lie is out of fear. Snapdragon would lie because telling the truth is bad for his business. Easiest way to deal with competition is to hire them, scare them out of business, or outright remove them. Now shut up and let me do my job._ '

The Demon hissed and receded. Sentenza heaved a soft sigh.

That was why she hated being underground: being away from the sun, from natural light, brought Her out of the den of her subconscious, gave Her a voice.

She jolted when Hun-Gurr gently butted his helm against her, looking at her with those glowing yellow optics of his that almost all Predacons seemed to have. She stroked his curling horns in return, silently thanking him for his concern.

The Seeker resumed her careful, feline walk. She had no idea if there were traps in this section of tunnel or not.

"This is a back entrance?" she whispered curiously.

"I think?" Relapse hazarded. "I remember seeing a weird wall when I was searching these tunnels for her; I think that's how I heard the mag-levs going by. I came in another way. I think. I-I can't seem to remember well. This wasn't the one I saw when I was talking to her, but I'm guessing there's a lot of these old War tunnels that've been blocked off? Took a guess, and it paid off."

Lowrider grunted approval. This kid was smarter than he looked.

' _So she has multiple means of egress..._ ' Sentenza noted.

They went down the tunnel for a ways until they hit an intersection with another tunnel. This one seemed in slightly better condition than the one they'd entered by but it looked like it hadn't been used in ages. Chittering, a retro-rat scurried by – and Hun-Gurr took advantage of the easy snack in an instant. One squeal later and it was gone. Sentenza barely fluttered an optic at the kill, her optics focused on her surroundings, her Predacon yellow optics piercing the gloom and audials set to one of the highest receiving settings. Distinctly she heard a mag-lev train fly by from behind.

If Relapse had heard a train go by while talking to Malevalace as he'd stated, they'd have to remain within hearing distance of the line.

Her red visor materialized and displayed a map of the mag-lev train routes on the Delta line that snaked near them. Then she searched through public archives for data on the old War tunnels, finding a match for this region. This she overlapped with the mag-lev routes map. Sections that were not near the line were deleted. Their search range was now narrowed – not significantly, but enough to save them precious time. Malevalace no doubt knew these tunnels better than most in the city. Very few ventured into them unless they had to; instability and scraplet nests were just two of the hazards these tunnels brought to the table.

Further and further they went, down another side tunnel. There were minor signs of habitation here, and the tunnel looked to have been reinforced haphazardly in places. Either a team of historians had been down here within the past ten stellar cycles, or there were low-lives hanging out down here away from prying optics.

"Wait." She held a hand up to stop further progress. "Hun-Gurr. Smell anything?"

The beast lifted his helm and snuffed loudly at the air. His optics didn't brighten, but he did snort violently and take a step back.

"Bad smell..." he grunted. "That way. Can't track."

Lowrider blinked. "Weird. I can't smell a thing."

Hubcap and Highbeam agreed. Confused, Relapse admitted the same.

"You stay back here then," Sentenza said. "Search the other tunnels and see if you come up with anything."

Grunting, Hun-Gurr turned and plodded off. The Seeker darted down the tunnel he'd indicated, keeping to one side. If Hun-Gurr was smelling something foul that had to mean Malevalace was nearby and had her defenses active. The reports had indicated the smells moved with her. Ergo, find the source of the smell, and they'd find their perp or an associate who could lead them to the perp.

"Sen wait!" called Lowrider.

 _Tick!_

The Seeker's optics widened. She leapt to the far wall – and Lowrider barrelled into her and they fell together, the mech shielding her with his own frame.

 _BANG!_

A concealed mine where the Seeker had so recently stepped exploded violently enough to lightly shake their section of the tunnel, a dull blue flash occurring as it went off. Rust particles billowed into the air. Just from the sound alone she judged the blast capable of blowing a regular 'bot's leg clean off. A bruiser wouldn't have fared much better. Through the ringing in her audials she could hear Hubcap and Highbeam calling out desperately.

"You okay?" the analyst asked once the rust had settled.

Sentenza restarted her fans that she only now realized she'd stopped.

"Yeah," she said. "Thanks. I didn't think there'd still be old War mines down here, not after all this time."

Lowrider grinned. Sentenza frowned on realizing why. Her optics narrowed dangerously to yellow slits.

"You have one astrosecond to remove yourself before I send you to Tumulus with a dislocated arm and a mashed face."

He removed himself and had the grace to help her up. She was thankful. She really didn't want to hurt him.

Highbeam and Hubcap reached them. After conferring about their condition the senior patroller reminded her that running around down here was ill-advised, no matter if they were within jogging distance of their perp. These tunnels had been sealed off for a reason – as she'd just discovered for herself. Sentenza nodded and started again, this time far more careful in where she placed her trods. That eagerness had very nearly cost her, and their drug dealer had probably counted on eagerness to lead them straight into her traps.

' _Note to self: don't get impatient down here. No screw-ups._ '

She stalked down another tunnel, red visor materializing. This tunnel bore even more reinforcement and there was even a little trickle of Energon coming in from up above. Fuel, isolation, and defensed – perfect place for a criminal or tunnel rat. She wasn't picking up any fumes herself, but that didn't mean much. But she thought she _heard_ something: pedefalls. Light ones. Taking the echo effect into account it was relatively nearby and sounded like it came from one of the dead ends. Checking her map, there were only two dead ends that were close to the rail line: one up to their left, and one down another short tunnel just ahead and also to the left. Only in one was there a garbled life signal.

A thin smile worked into existence.

' _Gotcha, glitch._ '

Silently she motioned for the others to join up with her, gesturing out her plan using hand motions and field glyphs. Lowrider, Hubcap, and Highbeam nodded. Relapse could do little but blink and shy back. Obviously he thought the noise was coming from Malevalace. She nodded and motioned that they'd handle this.

She held a hand up, extending three digits. One went down. Then another. Then the third.

When the third digit folded down, the three officers and their friend lunged from behind cover, weapons drawn. They surged into the dead end tunnel with shouts of "Hands in the air!" and "No tricks!" They barely registered the make-shift but somehow advanced chem lab that circled the place, but they could now smell a foul odor that, while faint, made their processor buzz and their vision blur.

The individual in the room whirled to face them: a scraggly rat pseudo-beast femme who looked as dirty as her ethics. Highbeam's headlights flashed on and off once, almost as bright as a flash grenade. The figure hissed and shielded her optics, thus letting the Seeker and Lowrider inch a little closer and allowing Highbeam and Hubcap to block off the main means of egress behind them.

"On the ground!" Highbeam ordered. His weapon was aimed dead center on the femme's helm.

"What?!" Malevalace demanded. "Cops?! How did you find me? No Pred goes anywhere near these fumes!"

"Oh, yeah. Sure. Like we'll tell the crooked drug dealer how _not_ to mess up next time," Sentenza snorted.

Her sense of accomplishment faltered when Malevalace smiled. Her hand went behind her, towards one of the tables filled with vials and tubes and chemicals and fumes.

"No funny business! You're surrounded, glitch!" Lowrider barked.

"Am I?" she asked. "Or are you?"

Her hand flashed out, throwing something at the nearest target to her: Lowrider.

It was hard to say what it was that she'd thrown, but it was small, somewhat oblong, and a dark, sickly green color. In a flash Sentenza dove forward to intercept. The Seeker's rod swung up to bat it back, but all that did was crack the thing open like a Terran piñata. Gas billowed out from inside and wafted outward in a sour-smelling cloud as shards of some odd, fragile material sprinkled onto the ground. The stuff wafted into her vents before she could stop intaking air. As she gagged and coughed and felt it burn the insides of the vents, her sight blurred and fritzed. She suddenly felt light-helmed. A drug her processor told her faintly. She'd been drugged.

Then the shadows appeared.

* * *

"Sen!"

Lowrider made to run forward but Highbeam grabbed him and held him in a vice grip. He noted his friend's visor was down. He was about to do the same when Sen wildly lashed out with her pole at thin air. Her sight stopped on him and Highbeam and her whole personality shifted. Confidence was replaced by utter, blind terror. She stumbled back quickly, hitting one of the tables and knocking over numerous test tubes. The gas cloud dissipated as he watched (whatever the stuff was it was volatile) but it looked like the damage had been done.

Malevalace darted towards the back of the makeshift lab and hit a panel, revealing another passage – footpath from the look of it. She scampered into it on all fours.

"You two! Get Mal!" he barked. "I'll see if I can knock her out of this!"

Highbeam and Hubcap surged after the perp in pursuit. No way that glitch could outrun a Chaser. Even on foot they had better speeds.

So his attention went back to the Seeker. She was wildly swinging at thin air as if fighting for her life. Carefully, he put his weapon away and approached. The Seeker noticed. Her optics widened. The pole was brandished tip-first in his direction.

"Back!" she screamed. "Get back!"

"Sen!" he said. "It's me! 'Low! Your buddy cop!"

Sentenza didn't seem to hear him. When he reached out she swung the stave and soundly cracked it on the side of his helm. He stumbled back a pace, wincing. She screamed again:

"S-Stay away!"

He needed a plan here. The hallucination was so vivid she couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't, words or no, and Primus knew what _he_ looked like to get her to thump him like that. Whatever it was she was seeing was scaring the spark out of her and she was attacking out of what she thought was self-defense.

"Sen! I don't know what you're seeing but I'm not what you think I am! It's me, 'Low!"

He approached again and again he was soundly thumped with the stave. Reasoning with her was pointless it seemed. There was only one way to fix this, and he wasn't okay with it. But he had to do something important first. Kneeling, he plucked up one of the shards from the gas bomb and stowed it. He didn't know how long this would last, so getting an antidote was the priority. Elixar would know what to do with it.

And now onto the part he wasn't anticipating: taking down Sentenza.

He forewent his firearm and instead chose a small hand-held device. Its harmless appearance belied its true nature.

"I'm hopin' you'll forgive me for this..." he murmured, "but this is gonna hurt you a lot more than it hurts me."

He darted forward, dodging a panicked swing of the stave. Grabbing it, he swung it and himself around until it was barred across her neck cables. He winced when she struggled violently, kicking him and then moving her helm suddenly backwards to strike it against his faceplates. Using one hand to hold the bar in place for a brief, crucial moment, the other struck out...

 _ZZzzAap!_

Electricity danced up and down the Seeker's frame as she gave out a cry of pain. He felt her give one last bit of effort to her struggle, and then her systems shut down from the overload. She went limp as a ragdoll. He caught her before she hit the ground – as best as he could with one hand free anyway. The stave was safely stowed on his back, and the device he'd used was stashed back on his hip. He hefted her up in his arms. Though no longer conscious and limp to boot, she still managed to stir a little.

"Hnn...st-ay...stay...way..." she mumbled. Her helm lolled to one side.

Not even unconsciousness was sparing her. By the Primes. What the Pit had been in that bomb?

"I-Is it over?" Relapse stammered, poking his helm out of hiding.

Lowrider didn't answer. He didn't even turn. All he felt he could do was hold her and try to imagine what it was she'd seen to scare her so badly. Sen wasn't scared of _anything_.

"Come on," he murmured, "Let's get you back to Ella."

* * *

Would crooks ever learn?

That was Highbeam's thought as he raced after their dealer. Running from a Chaser never worked out unless you could teleport or were speed-gifted, and Malevalace was neither. He was right on her tail, but she was somehow managing to stay just out of his reach. Not that it would really matter. When crooks were caught off guard and scared they got reckless. In any case, he had a plan – one he'd used a few times before with stubborn runaway perps. He just had to get her into a length of tunnel long enough.

He and Hubcap raced around a corner – and lo and behold, his wish was granted. It wasn't a long tunnel by any means but it would have to work. The next intersection was quite a ways down.

[Blackout, you got my signal?]

[Mite fuzzy, but aye.] replied the groundbridge techie.

He outlined his plan in a rapid-fire data burst.

[Aye. One groundbridge comin' up straight ahead o' ye!]

And just like that a portal swirled open a mere few paces in front of the fleeing rat. She tried to slow down to avoid it, but couldn't. Into the groundbridge she darted. They followed her through...and found themselves in a cell with their perp. Outside stood Corpselight, Tumulus, and Hotwire. Malevalace stood there for a moment as if computing what had just happened, then whirled on them in anger on figuring it out.

"Rat..." Hubcap began with a smile.

"Trapped." finished Highbeam.

They shared a smug fist-bump.

Malevalace tried to skirt past but Highbeam grabbed her, pinned her hands behind her backstrut, and clapped a pair of stasis cuffs over her wrists.

"Oh, and by the way: one of your clients would like a refund."

The rat femme snarled but made no verbal response.

* * *

 _A few hours later..._

Sentenza awoke with the worst processor ache she could remember. The world around her was fuzzy still, but she could dimly make her surroundings out as a lab. Lights burned above her and made her optics ache and sting even though they weren't incredibly bright. When she took in some air sharply to try to jump-start her systems it stung badly, as if acid had burned some of the sensitive protoform beneath. She almost didn't recall what had happened. Part of her didn't want to remember.

The shadows...she remembered the shadows though. Closing in...reaching out for her as if they were hungry...

She jolted and tried to get up, panic flooding her. Were they still there?

"Wha...? Where?"

"Easy there, Seeker," teased a voice she knew well, "I treated the acid burns as well as I could but that stuff was _nasty_. Thankfully the antidote got rid of the chems in your internal systems. Vile concoction if there ever was one. Hallucinogens mostly, but there were some corrosive elements in it as well as Tox-En."

She turned her helm towards the voice. She could make out the form of a stout 'bot colored somber white and black. Red optics flickered.

"Toommy?" she muttered.

A smile formed. The medical examiner, Tumulus, nodded.

"You gave 'Low quite the scare, y'know. And some dents."

Her optics widened. She'd hurt 'Low? Oh, sweet Solus Prime. Why couldn't life give her a break for once? All she seemed to be able to _do_ was hurt others.

"Before you ask, I'm fine."

Her helm jerked quickly towards the sound of Lowrider's voice. There he was standing by the door. Smiling, he came forward and handed her her stave back, noting humorously that she had a wicked swing with it. But her vision was clearing now, and there was something else in his optics. The same look had been in Counterforce's optics after her "incident" at the Praxian warehouse. He wanted to know. Almost unconsciously she curled up a little, wings tucking close. Her yellow gaze averted.

~ _resistance~_ She was ~ _afraid_ ~

Lowrider gave her an odd look.

*' _Low, I don't want to talk about it, okay?_ * she insisted.

He didn't seem pleased about her silence but he nodded regardless.

"Malevalace?" she asked.

"In custody," grunted Tumulus. "Point o' fact, our Chimeran friend Hun-Gurr managed to locate an associate of hers. Some mech named Mindgames. Found another guy at the phantom signal location, but he didn't give a name. Too high on a pearl to really do much. Not sure if he's a client or an assistant."

Weakly, she nodded. At least their perp and two helpers were caught.

"And Relapse?"

"He'll have to serve his time for running errands for a drug dealer and secretly funneling those credits to his brother (who assumed it was extra money from a legitimate job and that his brother was being secretive for other reasons) to a secure, hidden account, but he'll get the protection he needs. Snapdragon is also keeping good on his word and will abide by his sentence. Whether or not they stay out of a cell once they're released is up to them."

Again she nodded. But that didn't help the dull ache in her spark any. She'd still hurt someone who wasn't a criminal – Lowrider was a good friend of hers. And worse it had been _her,_ not the Nightdemon. It was easier to pin blame on a separate entity than on oneself. When you yourself had been the culprit, blame was not so easily shifted. One thing she was already decided on though: she needed to have a talk with Mourncall and Counterforce. Desperately. And she couldn't do that here, not with prying audials capable of listening in on such a private matter.

At any rate, Camber would want to know the result of the case. Hopefully she wouldn't fuss about her injuries or state _too_ badly.

Tumulus handed her a canister of stuff to help with the acid burns and she headed home, not entirely satisfied and of the opinion this day could've gone better.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Last major story update before school starts Tuesday. I've got another short one-shot coming up for FoY, maybe First Star and a short install/follow-up to this Tcsovan chapter, but yeah. School starts Tuesday. Great thing though? No classes on Fridays. Totally free those days. Bad part? I got another 8:30 a.m. class twice a week and a writing class once a week from 7:00 to 9:50...in the evening, and that class is the evening before one of those 8:30 classes. I: Least I'm not paying $500 for textbooks this semester though.  
**


	14. One-Shot: Light Brooding

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

One-Shot: Light Brooding

* _The title is a bit of an oxymoron. :) This is also a follow-up to "Side Effects." Takes place soon after the end of Side Effects._

* * *

Camber sat in the Seeker's rooms reeling at what her best paying tenant had just revealed to her. Oh! not the crime she'd just finished wrapping up – truth be told there had been stranger cases she'd recounted te her. No, what she'd just revealed was shocking on its own, and not just because she had, through some perpetual miracle, managed te keep the truth from her fer stellar cycles upon stellar cycles. The most Camber had had during that time were suspicions, and now that she knew the truth she knew those suspicions of hers were leagues off. The truth had been far darker. Truth be told, she'd have been content with her suspicions alone, never te know the truth of the matter.

"Miss...why?" she gasped. "Why didn't ye tell me about this sooner? I-I could've..."

Sentenza sat in one of the seat in her lounge, the rays of the setting sun bouncing off her helm and shoulders from behind, but that thus shadowed the front of her frame. She looked haggard, near te cryin' mightily. Her optics that shone so brightly not so long ago were dim, flat. She weren't even looking her in the optic. Camber couldn't sense her field for the spark in her, and she was standing right next te her. She was folding in on herself, shame and guilt burning yet still hidden.

"There's nothing you could've done for me, Cam, aside from the call the cops on my aft and have them arrest me," she said in a soft, shaking voice, "and it's not like arresting me would do any good either way. I didn't want to wind up in a cell, so I let you come to your own conclusions on what little evidence you had about me. Believe me, lying to you cycle after cycle was not something I took any pleasure in. I lied because I didn't want you to get hurt. I wanted to tell you _so badly_ some cycles...but I was afraid of how you'd react and how-how She'd react. You're a gossip, Cam, and gossips love this kind of information. It's not every solar cycle you find a reputable private detective's a sparkless killing machine by night, is it?"

Camber was forced to let her jaw drop, unable to believe her own audials. She couldn't fathom what her tenant was implying of her propriety.

"Miss, yer not sayin' I would...are you implying I would've _blackmailed_ ye?" she demanded. Her hand swept in one direction as if swatting at a cyber-tick as she went on, unable to let this go: "Miss, ye know me! I'm a gossip, not a wicked scandalmonger! I wouldn't 'ave circulated somethin' like this! Ye know I wouldn't! I 'ave standards!"

"I'm not trying to insult you, Cam, I'm not. But I have to be careful about who I trust with this kind of sensitive information. If this gets to the audials of a Council informant somehow...I might as well kiss my career, my network, and my life goodbye," She looked up at her then. "And if I blink off the grid, who's going to take down Thunderhoof? The rust bucket can track cop movements like a Canipid tracks a razorsnake. I'm one of just a few 'bots on the planet with an advantage against him. I can't afford it. I'm _so close_ , Cam..."

Her expression and posture was one of a pleading mite begging their Guardian for just one more breem of play. The older femme's countenance smoothed. Even if she didn't appreciate what her best-paying tenant had implied of her, she thought she understood her reasoning. In a stasis cell the Seeker couldn't help anyone, and her absence would loosen the noose she'd been steadily wrapping 'round the crime boss's neck cables of late. Having all that hard work reset or delayed would crush her.

"Ye...ye haven't sought 'elp fer this, miss?" she wondered.

"I haven't. I'm not willing to trust professionals with my sins. But..."

Camber's helm cocked to one side.

"You remember Counterforce?"

"Ah!" her lessor barked in laughter. "Well as I remember me own runts! 'ow could I forget that 'ansome devil? Whot about 'im?"

"He's been helping. That talent of his – photon manipulation – it hurts the other me. She's actually _scared_ of him, Cam. All he has to do it hold a hand over me, let it light up like a lamp, and She'll snarl and back off. Sometimes he and I just talk and it...helps. He also told that Crystal City doctor about my issue, and we've been collaborating and trying to find a better solution. The nightlight can't be there every night to help me. He's just one mech, and he has a life outside me."

Realization dawned on the older femme then. A mumbled sentence disguised under the cloak of embarrassment whispered in her helm again with new meaning.

"That's why ye said long-distance relations were an 'assle..."

The Seeker gave one short, curt nod.

"And whot's that solution, miss – or is that prying?"

Sentenza's helm shook. No, it wasn't prying she said. The solution right now was an ion lamp, but on bad nights it didn't work as well as Counterforce's light talent, so they were trying to find a more effective means to keep Her at bay other than her drugging herself with medical grade sedatives. At that Camber stared at her, but she went on before she could say anything: Mourncall had said he would get back to her after reading up on literature relating to her problem. That had been a while ago though. She was hoping he answered soon. With the _d'xrv lom_ approaching her attacks were going to get worse.

"Well, I ain't about te let ye go wanderin' around out there, miss," said Camber, hands on her hips, "no matt'r if some poor vagrant comes in 'ere beggin' yer 'elp. And if that devil inside ye thinks she can waltz out without my permission, tell that she-demon te think again. Yer friend comm'd and whot made it clear ye were te –"

"I know, I know," Sentenza sighed, leaning back in her seat. "No strenuous activities till the chems dilute, which should take until tomorrow at the latest."

Arms shifting up to cross over her broad chassis, Camber snorted and nodded approval. But her attitude softened in mere moments.

"Ye need anything, miss, just ask."

Sentenza smiled at that – strained, stressed, and haunted, it was a smile nonetheless.

"You sound just like Counterforce. I don't know whether to be terrified or laugh."

Camber smiled back and said that was just as well. Cops like 'im were mechs te admire. Taking the Nightdemon of Kaon of all femmes under their doorwings was something very few cops would do – Pit, probably none other than 'im would do it. He must've thought she was worth the risk she added sagely. Brave of 'im.

Unless it was her imagination she thought she saw Sentenza's smile warm and her body relax.

* * *

PRAXUS'S FIFTEENTH PRECINCT  
OFFICERS LOUNGE

A small group of varied mechs and femmes sat around a table. Different colored cubes of fuel shimmered faintly before them, some still near-to-full and others nearly drained. The solar cycle had been a rather uneventful one for the officers of the fifteenth, with only an issue of vandalism on the outskirts of town by some rebel youths and a street musician being robbed. Evac, Hoist, Flintlock, Mazerunner, Gundog – even their chief, Aegis, had decided to join the bunch.

One mech in the gathering, golden and silver and bearing a falcon-shaped helm, was leaning forward on the table and listening to the chatter and engaging, adding his own comments and theories. But his fuel remained untouched, and his optics were constantly straying to the table where a digit was idly tracing the Esra glyph with a fond yet troubled smile. So abstracted and unaware of the act was he that he failed to notice another officer had been taking note of this. Said officer grinned.

"Who's your girlfriend, Goldie?" teased Flintlock.

Counterforce jumped as if electrocuted, hand jerking and striking the cube beside his ghostly etchings. He caught it before it could tip. There was a soft revving as his vocalizer mimicked clearing his throat in embarrassment.

"W-What do you mean?" he asked.

Hoist chuckled. "Come on, mech. No reason to be etching Esra over and over again with _that_ look unless it's somebody important."

The wide-opticed look the poor officer gave him in exchange made him feel sorry beyond reason for him. He gave a gentle groan and appeared to try to melt out of his seat. Flintlock howled in laughter and slammed a fist on the table. Soon enough his helm joined him. Evac, seated beside the senior patroller, cuffed him on the arm with a warning to leave him be.

"Hah!" barked the patroller. "Oh-ho no! I ain't leavin' him be till I get a name! My best friend gets goo-goo optics over a gal I gotta know who the gal is!"

"Please, don't..." Counterforce mumbled, sinking further and covering his optics with hand and visor both. "This is private..."

"Goldie, ya realize if ya don't tell, Mazey and Gundog'll just snoop till they get the name for me, right? Just come clean."

Mazerunner giggled while Gundog grunted as if to assert that yes, trying to keep information from him was not wise.

Counterforce groaned again. Now he knew what criminals and witnesses being interrogated felt like. But there was no getting out of the self-set trap now, because he _had_ set it himself. He surrendered.

"Alright, fine," he said. "But you have to promise her name won't go beyond this precinct. Swear it on the Well."

His colleagues all solemnly swore on the beginning and end of their entire race, even Flintlock and Mazerunner. He nodded. Breaking oaths wasn't something Praxian officers did, so he trusted them to keep their side of the deal. He leaned forward and lowered his voice.

"Any of you remember the detective that aided us on the Mad Doctor case in Crystal City? Kaonian?"

Optics around the table went round in surprise. Hushed questions came in a flood. Was that why he'd gone to Kaon, to see her? What was she like? What was her background? Was it true she was a _niv'ytlo_ – a night-dweller, like Draculian Predacons? What did he think of her, mech-to-mech? Counterforce did his best not to wither at the interrogation. He remembered his promise to Sen not to blab about her private life (or her problem) unless she'd given her permission. So he did his best to answer the questions he felt were safe to answer:

"Yes, that why I went to Kaon," he said. "I wanted to see how she was doing and I wanted to reacquaint myself with the city. Since I know virtually no one else there I assumed she might be a good guide. I couldn't have asked for a better one; didn't show me the entire city but did show me around the city center. As for what she's like: she's a very intelligent femme who doesn't approve of too much regulation, and she's stubborn as they come. Incredibly sympathetic towards the tribes, as well: two of her 'friends' that she introduced me to were former Painters who'd set up a night club after being exiled for petty theft. Excellent taste in music, her and them. Does enjoy the nightlife when she gets the chance. That evening was..." He smiled in remembrance. "Enjoyable. She enjoyed it too. She even offered to house me for the night. And before you ask, no – nothing happened."

Evac leaned in towards her mate Hoist and murmured: " _He's got it baaad..._ " Hoist nodded back.

"Wha–? N-No I don't!" protested the officer. "We're just friends! That's it!"

Aegis gave him a sly smile, optics twinkling: "My officer doth protest too much, methinks..."

Evac decided to play along, quoting another Terran writer: "You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation..."

He lost control of his vocalizer at that point. His golden optic twitched. The innuendo was too much for him.

"No, no! I mean – I-I just – we – we're not –"

His comm. link pinged. He was surprised to find it was Mourncall's private frequency.

[Officer Counterforce? Do you have a few breems to spare?]

"Aw, that your sweetie calling?" Flintlock teased.

The glare Counterforce shot him made his mouth snap shut. His sole silver optic brightened, flashing.

"Excuse me, please."

He left them.

"Pay up," smiled Aegis. "I called it from the start."

Chuckling in good humor, Hoist and Evac both divulged two credit tokens colored pale red, each valued at twenty standard. Technically illegal – but what was a friendly bet between co-workers?

* * *

He shut the door to his office behind him.

"I'm here, doctor." he said quietly.

[Good. Turn on your console and get Sentenza on. You'll notice a link request from my console. Don't worry: I'm at home. No need to worry about eavesdroppers.]

The Praxian took a seat and did as told, opening the already present communication request and sending one out to his Kaonian ally. Sentenza was quick to reply, and both mechs were frankly stunned to find another femme on the screen with her: Camber. Both femmes waved. Mourncall seemed less shocked at that and more shocked at the the faint, raspy wheezing some from her air vents. She bore what looked like acid burns near them and splattered on her frame as well.

" _Oh, my! Detective, are you well_?"

" _Run in with a drug chemist_ ," she rasped. " _Got some of the stuff in my throat as well. I'm fine. I'll just be sounding a little hoarse until my nanites fix the damage._ "

" _I'm making sure the miss don't strain 'erself, sir_ ," Camber assured. " _No jobs – of any kind, mind ye – till the morrow. Doctor friend of 'ers made that clear._ "

"So she told you," Counterforce murmured.

" _Aye, that she did. The miss is one Pit of an actress, sir. I'd never in me life have guessed_ –"

"Mourncall? What is this about? Why the conference call?"

" _Well,_ " the Crystal City doctor leaned forward on his desk. " _I've done some heavy reading into psychology to see if I can find information that could help, and Sentenza_ – _you display many of the prominent signs of dissosciative identity disorder, though granted the actual disassociation between personalities_ – _that is, the mental "barrier" or "gap" of ignorance between the personalities_ – _seems to be absent in your case. You are fully aware of the other personality and vice versa. As you told me, the two of you are constantly warring for control, and that war hits peak ferocity come nightfall. Your "dam" as you so poetically term it becomes far more fragile and prone to shattering. I could not find anything academic about it's aversion to light I'm sorry to say, but perhaps that is because of the basic struggle: ilor'dztech as the Xanxorans call it._ "

" _Eh?_ " Camber grunted.

Counterforce clarified almost absent-mindedly: "The believed eternal conflict between Primus and Unicron, the manifestations of Light and Dark."

Her confusion cleared. " _Aye, aye. I follow now._ "

" _What are you saying?_ " Sentenza demanded, suspicious and a-feared.

" _I'm saying perhaps the aversion to light, to solar photons specifically, might be connected to that struggle somehow. You are a sensible if somewhat rebellious femme ordinarily who has morals and ethics, impulsive at times but intelligent and well-meaning, but She leaves you emotionally volatile during daylight joors as you are constantly under duress via your war. You, in effect, are the light half. The Tcsovan on the other hand is you without the ethics and morals, without the impulse, without the emotional volatility, though still dangerously intelligent. She is the dark half. She does not hunt when the sun is out, and light from the sun gathered through Counterforce is terror to Her. That, when you told me of it, struck me as peculiar. Personalities typically come into and out of play unconsciously. This...internal war of yours is all conscious. That fear of light, I think, is a conscious repression trigger. It's an edge to use against Her in your fight, and She can't develop an immunity it seems._ "

He had the entire audience's attention now.

" _Meaning?_ " Camber prompted.

Mourncall smiled. " _I think I have a solution._ "

The hope-starved Panthron of a Seeker pounced. " _What?! Tell me! How do I get rid of Her?!_ "

That smile faltered. This would not remove the _Tcsovan_ from her, he told her. But it could help ease the conflict – at least to where she wouldn't suffer emotional outbursts and the _Tcsovan_ would not be clawing as vehemently at her processor.

" _TELL ME!_ " shrieked the Seeker.

"You'd best tell her before she rends that console apart in an effort to throttle you, doctor," Counterforce advised. He'd never seen her this desperate.

" _Meditation._ "

She blinked. Her desperation faded as suddenly as a gun shot. " _What?_ "

" _Meditation_ ," repeated the Crystal City doctor with an unflappable smile. " _And not just any kind mind you. It's an alteration on the Xanxoran style of communicative meditation they use in prayer. This meditation requires you focus on external stimuli such as sound, hearing, electrical fields, and smell_ – _but not sight. You are so focused on internal ones that they affect you more than they should. I believe_ – _this is merely a theory_ – _that if you focused on external stimuli, things outside your frame, you could help ease that duress you suffer. It could focus that_ _animosity away from your conflict, possibly even create a mental neutral zone. Perhaps in that sort of environment you could communicate, reach a compromise even._ "

The Seeker looked less than sold on the idea. She shied back from the screen, Predacon yellow optics narrow and one slender brow ridge arced.

" _That sounds almost too easy, Mourncall._ "

" _Sometimes simple solutions are the best ones for complex problems._ "

Counterforce watched her closely. Stellar cycles of being unable to trust herself had left her sadly suspicious. But he saw that suspicion lift, her expression become more curious. She agreed, adding that she was willing to try anything at this point.

" _Very good. Madam, could you keep watch on her spark-pulse for me? Working off the Xanxoran example, it should fall somewhere within this range_ –" A tab opened, independent of the video feed: a graph of highs and lows, "– _when she reaches the required state._ "

Camber's helm bobbed and she agreed to her role.

" _Good. Now, has that ion lamp been charged?_ "

" _Yes._ "

" _Excellent. Please fetch it and set it up. Wherever you're most comfortable._ "

Sentenza rose, vanished off the video feed briefly, and returned with the lamp. A space was cleared in the room in sight of the camera, in which the lamp was placed center stage. The Seeker flicked it on and knelt beneath it, onyx mesh shimmering a rich, smoky bronze under its gentle glare. She looked up expectantly at the camera.

" _Now what?_ "

" _Shutter your optics._ "

She did as told.

* * *

Almost instantly the hungry shadows Malevalace had unleashed came slinking back, lurking at the edges of her blacked out vision. They were not actual shapes, did not bear resemblance to anyone she'd harmed in the past, but she still tensed. They were not the Demon; she did not know if these shadows meant harm. A part of her began to panic in uncertainty, their shapeless oil-slick bodies drawing nearer. Her air cycling becoming quicker, armor tightening against her frame. Desperately she wanted to un–shutter her optics, to know whether the shadows existed only in her mind or if they had invaded her rooms. Was Camber in danger?

She felt a hand put on her shoulder.

" _Calm down, miss. Not a one can 'urt ye 'ere,_ " murmured the older femme.

The shadows receded like a tide, only one remaining hidden in the deepest corners of her mind. Her subtle tremblings ceased. One familiar Demon was better than a dozen unknown shadows.

" _You need to let yourself relax, Sen,_ " Counterforce's voice was just as powerful as the lamp – soft and smooth as mercury, and bearing the same warmth she craved from his talent and his frame. " _You've trained your mind and your body to be ready for a struggle since the first kill you made under Her control, because you felt wracking guilt over it. You tried to hide yourself away. Every misdeed She makes causes you to become more and more isolated. It doesn't have to be that way. You have safety, and friends, and warmth right now. So let your mind wander away from Her for once. Focus on what you can hear._ "

The Seeker did so. She set her audials to a higher sensitivity than normal and let them absorb incoming sound waves. She could hear the pulsing beat of her own spark, of Camber's; she could hear her own raspy air cycling; the sound of the building's power grid was a low-frequency buzz just on the edge of her hearing; there was the faint rush and scream of air and ground traffic, muffled by the building's sound-absorbent technology, co-mingling with the deep, thrumming chug of the planet itself, and she thought she heard the calling cries of Predacons further away. All of these sounds she had grown so accustomed to that they had faded from conscious recognition – ambient white noise so easily ignored in favor of her own internal fight. To hear it again in full brought back memories of a more innocent time in her life. Slowly, her tension ebbed.

She felt the Demon creep forward, but She didn't break through.

" _Good, good. Now, what can you feel? On the outside, not inside._ "

She could easily feel the warmth from the ion lamp, her one comfort next to Nero and the fog of the sedatives before she'd ever met Counterforce. She could sense Camber's field, ~ _concern_ ~ and ~ _protection_ ~ swimming in it, but she could no longer feel her hand. Most of all she could feel her own chilled frame, ever seeking heat and comfort. Hungrily it devoured the provided heat, though she did not feel any warmer. Funny, she thought. Why was it Counterforce's light made her feel warmer and not the lamp? They ran off the same thing: solar photons.

The Demon crept forward further.

Sentenza squirmed, discomfited. A Canipid-like whimper wriggled out of her vocalizer. Her Praxian shushed her gently. Easy, Sen, easy he murmured. This was a ceasefire, not a new fight. The squirming stopped, and the Demon didn't move further forward. It was..it was almost like She didn't know how to react to all this. The other her was...confused. Wary. Why the sudden lapse of resistance?

" _Smell? What do you smell?_ "

This was the most difficult sense of all. The Seeker was no Canipid, but she tried anyway. She could detect the high grade stashed beneath a counter; the hidden medical grade sedatives were a sweet fragrance tinged with the stale insipidness one found in medical brews; there was a whiff of the hot, acrid foundry fires from further north carried on a south wind. By the far the most overpowering was the smell of her burns – putrid, tangy. Nasty concoction.

The Demon did not move forward.

She waited a breem just to be certain, but She stayed where She was. The light and the Demon's own confusion kept Her in limbo. After nearly five breems the detective's frame relaxed. Curved onyx wings lowered in an angle of submission as her helm bowed forward, air cycling somewhat painful but steady.

* * *

Camber took a half-step towards her tenant and placed a hand on her backstrut to feel her spark's pulsing. It was certainly slow, but she kept it there to get an average. She removed the hand and compared it to the data supplied by the doctor. A smile broke out on her ample faceplates. The rate wasn't exact but it was Pit-near close. The miss must've been exhausted te fall under so quick.

"I think she's under, sir," she whispered. "What now?"

" _Let her be for a while longer, say another two breems. When that time is up, don't bring her round quickly. Having her body rev back to normal could result in an adverse reaction or even make her lash out at you through instinct. Flare your field at her, and if she doesn't respond right away just keep at it. Being in a semi-trance state such as the one she's in now means her body will want to return to normal steadily_ – _any system hiccups are avoided that way._ "

The older femme said she'd do just that.

" _Good. Thank you for assisting with this dry run, madam. Do you think you could instruct her again should the need arise?_ "

She glanced back at the Seeker, blissfully unaware of her own war now. The miss was even smiling to herself – smiling like a child. After fighting for vorns on end she could finally feel that same wonderful relief of a soldier on his assigned leave. She whispered back:

"There's nowt to worry about there, sir. The miss is a quick study. But if she needs someone te 'elp 'er, I'll do it, aye."

The tall silver and ivory mech thanked her once more.

" _I wish you a good afternoon, then, madam. Oh! and please ask the detective to keep me updated. It'd be interesting to know if this works during the evening when it's most needed._ "

He reached forward and touched the display, dragging the feed window down. His end of the feed disappeared. Counterforce's feed still remained. He was leaning forward on his desk now, chin cupped in his hands.

"And what of ye, officer?"

He jumped a little.

" _I-I have to go as well. My fellow cops are probably wondering what's become of me, and I'd...rather they not start thinking the wrong things about my relationship with her. One of them already got that idea; insinuated it was more than just a simple friendship._ "

Camber couldn't help chortling to herself at that. And here she'd thought Praxians had the clean minds of the lot. That bit of juicy info aside, she had the feeling it _was_ a lot more than "just a simple friendship!" Or else it would soon be. She'd seen that content, dreamy look on his faceplates when he'd spoken to her as plain as plain could be.

* * *

 **Author's Note: I'm taking the "both are oblivious about how they feel cliche" and toying around with it. ;) Thing is, they both actually know how they feel (or are beginning to) but they're nervous about it going past friendship for personal and, yes, even professional reasons. They're happy to take it slow and just see how it plays out.**


	15. One-Shot: Ringleaders

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

Part 10: Ringleaders

* _This is intended as a single chapter case. In-between-er that focuses solely on Sen'za's life as a detective. I'll do another like this for Counterforce later on. Some Cybertronian words here will remain untranslated. :P_

* * *

SUNCREST APARTMENTS  
CITY-CENTER, KAON  
TIME: 2400 HOURS

Standing over her desk, hands flat on its surface, Sentenza emitted a peculiar kind of growling groan. A frown marred her smooth, dark silver faceplates as her Predacon yellow optics flashed orange for the briefest of astroseconds. Her wings lowered aggressively. Glyphs for anger and frustration flickered like firecrackers in her forcibly constrained field. Her digits clenched into fists, then relaxed as she let out a heavy exvent. She forced herself to read the encrypted report on the well-worn data pad before her with less emotion and more analytical logic:

 _Detective, I's got word through a pal o' mine lately (I'll leave the poor rb unnamed in case this gets intercepted) that there's a deal goin' down in the southeast quadrant at thirty-three hundred hours. Weapons n' drugs so they tells me. Bulk deal. No clue where; pal didn't elaborate. Dunno whether or not theys workin' for the big mech or not. Could be a solo ring. Ye thinks ye can look into the deal an' stop it cold? I's'd hate to see more 'bots fall into Hoof's trap if that's so, and if the buyers o' those weapons are his boys...I's rather not think what they intends 'em for. Ifs ye do finds 'em, look for a Lupy mech. He'll be there so he says._

 _Your faithful gol bental,  
Hoodwink  
_

 _P.S: Hope this finds ye well. Ye'll get 'im one day, boss._

She emitted once more that strange growling groan. Her helm shook side to side in an odd amalgam of despair and frustration.

"Another weapons deal?" she murmured to herself in infuriated shock, " _Volqen skiiel!_ I just took care of one the other deca-cycle! And another the deca-cycle before that! What the Pit's going on here?"

The Seeker removed herself from the desk strode over to the window. Outside, the planet's shining host star was about halfway between its zenith and the horizon. It would be some time till night, and some time further until the time of the deal rolled around. She had more than enough time to check with her snitches, vagrants, and other such nosy gossips and see what the issue was. Vandal was unaware who the dealer was which was curious in it of itself. That alone seemed to indicate that Thunderhoof might not be involved in this, or that perhaps the crime boss himself was unaware of these deals. That, too, was unusual. The crime boss was ruthlessly vigilant of threats to his empire, even ones so trivial that she herself might disregard them. So what in the world was going on with these weapons deals? This was the most activity in this field she'd seen in twenty groons, and the worst it had been since the beginning of the Rebuilding.

Something was up. A few of them occurring over four or five lunar cycles was a fairly normal rate, and they were usually not bought in bulk. But four before a lunar cycle had even passed?

And so, grabbing a data pad marked as "Weapons Black Market" and storing it in her subspace pocket, Sentenza strode out the doors of her flat. She passed through the reception area, offered Camber a wave and told her she was going out, slipped out the doors, and out into the bustling city of Kaon. One banshee-like scream of her engine later and her sleek black form had rocketed up into the airways.

She needed to nip this problem in the bud – _before_ it got out of hand. But she couldn't get in just by walking through the front door – she didn't even know where the front door was. As it so happened, she knew just the 'bot to talk to first.

* * *

KAON'S NORTHEAST QUADRANT  
BUCKSHOT'S ANTIQUE AMMUNITION AND FIRING RANGE

Calmly polishing an old War-time A-4 Pulsar in the back of the shop was a somewhat gangly looking mech. A violet Decepticon crest sat on his chassis, a chassis which frankly needed more tending and polishing than the weapon in his hands.

Any upright, slightly paranoid law officer might be excused for tensing at such a sight, and that had happened a few times. Only on further examination would one note the almost loving expression on the mech's faceplates and his gentle care of such a dangerous weapon. For the gangly mech, Buckshot, was no warrior. He was a collector of the humblest sort. He prided himself on keeping such items in mint condition for others to see and test out back in the firing range. Learning about the ferocity of the War through text or word of mouth was one thing, but for the many who had fled the planet during that time mere words could not properly describe such violence. Sometimes history was best taught through hands-on experience. Feeling the sheer power of an A-4 Pulsar or a Riot Cannon, the rapid fire recoil of an X-18 Scrapmaker, the sharpness of a Corona Glaive – that often woke the 'bot trying it out up to the grim reality of what had happened. It put things into perspective the way words never could.

Buckshot looked up sharply on hearing the door hiss open. It was a bit early for customers or the generally intrigued. Curiosity won out. He set the massive weapon back in its display case, stashed the polishing cloth and cleaning solvent aside, and made his way to the front of the shop. His shuttered his optics rapidly at what he saw: a slender black and red Seeker femme examining a Gear Shredder with child-like intrigue. The femme commented lightly:

"This one's new. How'd you manage to snag this ugly slagger, Buck? I remember you telling me they didn't forge very many of these. Mostly used by Insecticons or 'Con interrogators if I recall right. Nasty things."

It was strange, that comment. She sounded like she was talking to herself but it was plainly directed at him. But seeing her again could only mean one thing, and the fact it had only been a deca-cycle since their last meeting was troubling. She'd already paid him two visits before now.

"Another deal going down?" he asked.

The Seeker put the Gear Shredder back on its display mount and turned to face him. She nodded once.

"Where this time?"

"Southeast quadrant. Wasn't supplied a specific location, either. But there's a pattern there. All these deals so far have taken place in the South Quadrant: 'Hoof's turf. You hear anything about this one?"

"I only hear about antique weapon auctions, detective. The fact that I haven't heard a peep about this one or the previous one is telling. Only one of these I heard about was the one you stopped that was dealing Scrapmakers and plasma grenades. This one is a modern auction most likely. Some in my collection I admit are black market but some are sold to me by War vets in a plain, abovebeam manner. I make it a point to never re-sell them once I've obtained them. Weapons like the Gear Shredder and the Path Blaster are too dangerous to be in active circulation anymore."

"So you can't get me in..." Sentenza assumed grimly, "You've no data on it at all? No small talk? No whispers?"

Buckshot shook his helm. Glyphs laced his field: ~ _d_ _esire_ ~ ~ _negative_ ~ ~ _f_ _orgiveness_ ~ Sentenza nodded in return. Buck always tried to his best to be on top of the weapons black market but there were things even he was deaf to. Considering some of his clientele that was a little strange but all around believable. He didn't collect modern weapons; antiques were what he heard the most chatter about. But she always went to him first before spreading out. There was always the chance, of course, and a chance should always be taken seriously. She'd contact one of her other helpers who dealt with the rumor mill in general. They'd helped with the last two busts – logic said they should be able to help with this one, too.

She put a hand on his arm. "Thanks anyway, Buck. Keep me posted?"

The mech smiled. "I always do, detective. I hear anything, it'll go straight to you. That's our contract."

Smiling back in her bewitching way the Seeker thanked him once more and sauntered out. Buckshot returned to the back of the shop to care for his hazardous horde, wishing he could've been a little more helpful. Three weapons deals almost back to back – that was worrisome. He hoped she could get to the bottom of this, for all their sakes. If a turf war was about to erupt, or if Thunderhoof was going after the cops in force...he shuddered at the thought. This could only go south.

* * *

Sentenza circled high above Kaon, scanners minutely searching for a certain signal amidst the throng of others. This contact in particular was somewhat tougher to find. They had no business, no close contacts, not even a home to stay in. Some contemptible 'bots called her a vagrant, and she'd been arrested in the past a handful of times for minor theft. Normally the scraggly young Procyoid femme stayed in the tunnels to avoid the cops and the acid storms, but on clear solar cycles such as this one she was more often above ground, eavesdropping on the lives of others from around the next corner or on a low rooftop, and occasionally receiving donations from sparks who pitied her. Her donations from the Seeker only lasted so long in this economy, and it wasn't unheard of for dirty cops or crooks to rough her up and take what little she had.

"Come on, femme...where are you?" she muttered to herself, "Please don't play hard to find..."

Her field danced with annoyance. She dove down. There were a few places she liked to stick around: outside nightclubs, in the slums, and outside the residences of certain wealthy individuals, some charitable and some not. She had to hope she hadn't reverted back to theft to scrape by and wound up in a holding cell. A handful of precincts weren't in her network due to repeated corruption. Data corruption in crime could lead to any number of rotten outcomes, as the tenth precinct had found the hard way.

She searched a few of her well-known night club haunts and came up empty handed. That was a little unusual. But onward she flew, into the northwest neighborhoods that housed lower class workers. Most 'bots turned their faceplates up at those on the ladder's lower rungs, but she'd found them to be a remarkably intelligent, well-connected, and loyal source. A few of them spotted her and hollered up with a wave. Becoming desperate, she angled down, transformed and landed. A gaggle of them crowded her within a klick. She smiled and greeted them in turn with rough, strong handshakes, her slender, gleaming hands a stark contrast to their rugged ones. Miners, foundry workers, and tunnel upkeeps, all them. Good, honest folk. Three sparklings raced towards her with shrieks of delight and danced around her trods. Smiling, she knelt down and offered them her strange semi-embraces. They giggled and raced off. She rose to meet the optics of the gathered adults.

"Wha're ye doin' 'ere, sweet-cheeks?" a stout mini-bot mech asked in a voice as rough as his hands. But an honest voice.

"Any of you lot seen Wiretap?" Sentenza asked, "I need to talk to her. Urgent business."

They discussed among themselves for a bit, sharing glances and mild gestures. Eventually a conclusion was reached.

"We's seen 'er, aye," confirmed another, a stocky femme sooty from foundry work, "Simmerdown saws her loit'rin 'bout th' foundry district. Mayhaps she's still there? Or nearby? She don't travel too fast, leastwise when she's not bein' 'assled."

"Thank you. Here, for your trouble. Solus knows you 'bots deserve more than you get."

The Seeker fished into her hip subspace pocket and brought out three shimmering blue tokens with the crest of the Council on it, each worth fifty credits. Multi-colored optics widened. When no one rushed forward to take the credits she reached out and opened the hand of the worker nearest her, placing the credits in them and folding the digits over it. The 'bot in question looked at her in shock, but before they could argue she reverted form and rocketed up into the skyways. Her engine screamed and within moments she was but a black dot in the fume-filled skies. She didn't need to look back to know they would distribute her donation fairly.

* * *

The foundry district by its very nature was dirty. Acidic smoke clogged the atmosphere above its countless industrial and smaller-scale forges, creating a foul, artificial cloud bank that squatted above the district. Well Guardians would often employ the foul smog to mask their scents from prey before running or flying off to the expanses beyond the cities, reeking of fire and metal and acid. The hammerings of the smiths and their stolid tools, great and small, rang out like a symphony of abused gongs. There was rhythm and tempo to the beatings – a district of percussion players, striking their metal drums.

Through the streets and byways slunk a Procyoid femme colored a pale, dirty grey with lighter copper accents, her tail ringed with the same color and a dark bronze mask emphasizing her vermilion optics. She barely scratched the fourteen foot mark, and her frame was dotted with fine soot from the smog. She peered 'round the backside of the building she was strolling by, Heatbath Welding, slender digits on the building's exterior. Her lip-plates morphed into a sly grin on noting the guard on duty, a hefty mech of dark bronze, red, and pewter, but having nodded off.

Easy pickings she thought smugly.

Tail flicking once, quiet as a Felioid on the prowl, she slunk forward, slender trods no more than brushing the ground beneath her. When she was within arm's reach, her hand oh so carefully extended at a snail's pace. Slender cables no thicker than a blast-beetle's antennae extended from the tips of her digits and connected with the panel on the mech's leg. A single code override later and the panel slid open, and thus she snuck even nearer. Two digits slipped in to the sub-space pocket and blindly pulled out two credit tokens: one silver, one red. Good enough she supposed. Another string of code made the panel close. Feeling home free, she pulled away.

The guard onlined with a start. She tried to hide the pilfered credit tokens behind her backstrut to no avail. He noticed the act in an instant. His expression darkened.

Wiretap took her cue.

She transformed and bolted.

The guard gave chase.

"OI! GET BACK 'ERE YOU LITTLE _TI'EZT_!" he thundered.

She raced around a corner down a side street too narrow for a burly mech like him to drive through and littered with crates of ore and chemicals. On hearing the thundering beats of heavy trods, she leapt up onto a stack of crates and, on reaching the top, kicked it out from under her as she vaulted up the side of the building: Helioshield Metalworks. Up and up she clambered until her left, clawed, paw-like hand reached up onto the edge of the roof – where a familiar femme was looming over her, extending a hand to help her up. She took hold and let the exotic Seeker heft her up to safety. Below, the guard gave a colorful, frustrated curse and stomped away.

Sentenza, her employer, was frowning, her wings held down in muted aggression. Like a scolded sparkling she smiled back sheepishly, tail down.

"I-I can explains, _kv'otz i'icos_... _"_

The Seeker's frown lifted by a fiber's width. Her wings hiked back up by a fraction.

"You can pay me back with some help. Deal happening in the Southeast Quadrant at thirty-three hundred hours. Heard anything?"

Wiretap's tail lifted. She nodded. "Takin' place in the business of one Hustle. Once supplied the Guard with weapons he made himself; got bought off by Thunderhoof durin' a slump. Gots a big haul of energy weapons he gots straight from dealers on Theta Xozkars, where he gots business deals. But Æfæn's the word, aye?" Her hand gestured under her chin-guard. "You didn't hear it from me!"

The Seeker nodded her thanks. But before she flew off, she fished into her subspace pocket and brought out a single pale green credit token and held it out to her. Vermilion optics widened.

"Give what you stole back to that guard," she said, "and this is more than yours. Deal?"

Wiretap managed a meek, contrite smile. "Yes, ma'am."

On that parting shot, Wiretap's employer transformed with a flourish and flew off. A banshee's wail was the last thing she heard before her form merged with the blanket of smoke and smog squatting above the district.

* * *

SOUTHEAST QUADRANT, KAON  
HUSTLE'S HALBERDS AND ASSORTED WEAPONS  
TIME: 3250 HOURS

Sentenza, for one of those rare moments in her adult life, was able to appreciate the night's beauty while on the job. Oh, how she appreciated it.

Luna-2 hung low in the skies above, casting its ghostly glow onto Hustle's place of business. It transformed nearby decrepit building and standing business alike into shimmering castles of silver, pewter, and pale chrome. A sharp north wind swept through the area and foretold the coming arrival of _d'xrv_ lom, but she did not fear it as she had in the past. Flocks of mecha-moths fluttered beneath the flickering streetlights, their translucent wings reflecting light into a faintly scintillating array of pastel color. Despite the gravity of her task and the risk she was taking, she let herself smile behind her cloak at their erratic dances. She remembered trying to catch them as a child.

But the 'bots who came towards Hustle's business heeded not these finer sensibilities of the night. The only appeal to them was a good deal and the cover of darkness.

So far, she'd seen a dozen 'bots head into the deceptively upstanding business of Hustle, some of whom looked reputable but a vast majority of whom had looked like mercenaries or thugs. Frankly, she would've come earlier but that would've gotten the business owner suspicious. A final prospecting buyer came along, one she recognized even from a distance: Silverhound, one of Thunderhoof's loyal goons. She hadn't bothered to catch him in the past – his blunt stupidity and lack of subtlety was useful to her, as it was proving to be yet again. His presence meant the crime boss was definitely interested in acquiring more weapons, and she cared little about why. An organization as dangerous as Thunderhoof and his mob didn't need any further means of harming others – they were doing that well enough already, and getting rich off the profits.

Silverhound lumbered towards the door in his usual Buffaloid type manner of walking. He didn't even bother to scent the air before he passed through the sliding door into the business to join his co-buyers. The Seeker slipped in behind him before they shut. As she edged after Silverhound towards what looked like a backroom for employees she paused to examine in her surroundings with a quick optic: absence of light would work in her favor to slip out; the counters and cases were not in the way aside from one in the middle of the display area – could be used as an obstacle if needed; weapons suspended from the walls were replicas but could still be useful as blunt force weapons – best keep the buyers away from them if the fight spilled out into there. Not a terrible set-up all around. She'd been in worse places.

But then Silverhound lumbered into the back through another sliding door, and she was forced to bolt in behind him before it closed on her. Silverhound was daft to the point of blunt stupidity but a door opening on its own would get his attention as well as it would with anyone else. That stupidity had its limits.

The Seeker tailgated as he headed further towards the back, confused to find him headed for a wall that displayed a heavy plasma rifle. It lifted when he put a hand on a section of wall, and it lit up to reveal a concealed holo-pad. One scan of his chassis later and the wall peeled back to reveal steps leading down to a sub-level of the business. Through the dark murk she could see lights at the base of the steps – the entrance to what looked like a dead-ended War tunnel.

' _What?_ ' she thought. ' _How the Pit'd you get away with that trick, Hustle?_ '

Silverhound ambled down into the depths, she slipping in behind him just as the door hissed shut and locked behind her. Her steps fell in line with his as he descended, and as the path leveled out she was met with a gathering of all the faceplates she had seen come in earlier: Silverhound, Polarclaw, Bandoleer, and Flashback to name just some of the recognizable buyers. Drug dealers and makers, Thunderhoof lackeys, less-than-upstanding individuals all. Two Reptoid mechs of vastly different frame designs were there alongside a violet Buffaloid femme, as well as a Canipid-like mech resembling a Terran dog of some kind, a mysterious Vizanthan mech with an obvious Rust Sea Buggy alt. mode, a sandy-beige Fauxline femme, and a burly Canyonite. But what alarmed her the most was the presence of Terrashock, one of Contrail's brutal Enforcers. The sight of him made the other her writhe and hiss, and her ensuing snap only made Her hiss louder.

Seemed that the Councilor wasn't as clean as he led others to think. No wonder crime in Kaon was a problem: Contrail was part of it, or at least one or more of his Enforcers were.

' _Or that e'etvc of his, Ratbat..._ ' hissed the Demon.

Hush up! she snapped. This was her mission, not Hers.

The other her hissed once more and Her writhing lessened.

Hustle stood before them all. Behind him stood twenty unlabeled crates that a simple swap of sight type revealed as filled to bursting with rifles, pistols, shotguns, and grenades of all types. Packets of Polonium powder and Thallium pearls filled another five crates.

Bandoleer, ringleader for the _C'crq tor xil_ , itself a gang in the southwestern hemisphere and under the control of Thunderhoof, snarled: "Ya got the goods, pal?"

"All packaged and ready for shipment," replied Hustle, a paradoxically reputable looking mech with a fox-like appearance and narrow faceplates, "so long as you have the credits to pay for it, that is. I have a business to run after all. My off-world suppliers aren't cheap, my explosives-admiring friend."

The buyers all set about fishing out holo-graphic cards for bulk credit transfers, same as with the other deals. A quick check of their values made the hidden Seeker's optics go round: they were for thousands upon thousands of credits each, just like the other deals. Thunderhoof was more than willing to dish out good credits for these haul it seemed, and oh it felt _delicious_ to snatch that kind of currency out from under him. But why? What was he planning to do with it all? This was the fourth or fifth bulk deal she'd stopped in under a lunar cycle, and these were just in Kaon. Her contacts were informing her that more of these deals were taking place in other cities, though her insiders were doing their best to sabotage the deals.

Hustle took each card, examined them for the proper value and legitimacy, and they disappeared into his own sub-space. He then began allotting the crates to the buyers in accordance with the orders.

' _Oh, this is just business as usual for you, isn't it?_ ' the Seeker spat internally.

The dog-like mech approached with Silverhound to take their seven crates. She took more notice of him then. The mech was a stocky build, bearing many scars on his yellowish-blue-grey frame but owned a clever set of yellow-rimmed red optics. His tail was thick and heavy, his clawed paws and hands similarly so. A pair of Canipid-like audials perked up from atop his helm. Odd design, but ruggedly handsome all around. He sniffed at the air then, in a fine-mannered, delicate way, like a connoisseur of the finest _itva_ in Kalis. His helm moved in a slight arc to briefly to do something that alerted her to his real nature: he managed to, for just an astrosecond, somehow make optic contact with her hidden form.

She nodded once in realization. So _this_ was Hoodwink's insider. Interesting. Lupioids were renowned for their loyalty. Getting one to switch sides was an ordeal.

"Somethin' the matter, Howlitzer?" asked the violet Buffaloid femme.

"Nay," said the dog-mech in a low, strident grunt. "Jost can't seen te get the stench o' the foundry district off me mesh."

The Fauxline sniffed at him and, grimacing, gave a low frequency sound of sympathy. Fact of life in Kaon – no matter where you lived, if the winds blew right, you'd smell just like the foundry district until those winds changed. It would take a long oil bath to remove the acrid scent upon her return to Shjozul, and he back to Ticosus.

The Seeker had waited long enough. She couldn't permit these weapons to see battle, nor the drugs to be administered.

She crept forward. The bar on her hip was detached and the tip rammed into the side of Hustle's helm.

He fell.

* * *

Every occupant in the room whirled. The air above Hustle's prone frame rippled and flickered like an agitated holo-display, and out of it emerged an exotic Seeker darker than a moonless night and accented with crimson, her scalding iron optics burning like twin suns. Attached to her hip like an officer's nightstick was a black bar of metal no longer than her middle digits joined together – not exactly threatening by any means, but her lowered wings, zinging field, and burning optics made up for her lack of armaments.

"YOU!" Terrashock bellowed. "How'd she get past security?!"

With a showfemme's flourish the bar was extended further in length, twirled about, and promptly pointed at the turn-mesh Enforcer. Her wings lowered further and stiffened in a classic aggression display.

"Twelve against one, darlin'," noted Bandoleer with a crooked smirk. "Mighty risky of ya."

Cackles and murky chuckles filled the room, but some sounded a little forced. A handful of those present knew well enough her reputation for stamping impossible odds into the ground.

To see her smile left him with a disquietin' feeling of being left out of an inside joke. His smirk faltered like a badly aligned wing flap when the Seeker's form vanished from sight, a phantom among the livin'. The Vizanthan gave a cry of pain as somethin' rammed into his side, his backstrut, and then his helm in a flurry of vicious blows, leaving deep dents where the pole struck. Somethin' swept beneath him – leg or pole, it didn't matter. Mech still fell to the ground, and a final blow to the helm sent him spiralin' into oblivion. By the time he finished processin' the attack she'd already moved on to Silverhound and downed him too. The blow to his helm rang out like an ion cannon.

Bandoleer felt himself attacked then. Her pole was rammed into his sensitive doorwings hard enough to make him shout in pain. Again and again the pole struck him: side, helm, leg, arm, doorwings again, helm. Barely a klik went by before he was riddled with dents and aching as bad as an Equinine stampede victim, only just able to stand upright. In a haste he drew one of the grenades that made up his namesake, primed it, readied to hurl it blindly into the center of the room -

 _CHANG!_

The pole struck him dead in the faceplates, swung at him like a club. Bandoleer never felt himself hit the ground, nor did he see his grenade caught before it joined him - snatched by an unseen hand. But unseen by the optics did not mean unseen by the audials. The bomb's steadily rapid beeps gave Polarclaw a target, so the normally languid mech pounced - to crash into a hidden obstacle. He only managed to get off a few claws before he was literally batted away by that blasted pole. But now there were a few precious drops of baby blue dripping down from their unseen guest. Enough. Overhead snorted and charged as the revealed Seeker, Terrashock joining her. Together they went for the air near the latest victim, the Fauxline, taking her from both sides. Somehow, all they managed to hit was one another, banging their thick helms together like Hindians dueling for a mate, the sheer force of the impact making even their burly frames stagger back as their fritzing optics recovered. Frustration was now a catalyst to their mounting claustrophobia.

One of the Reptoids was felled next by a single, brutal blow to the side of his helm, powerful enough to make him topple forward and leave a deep dent, a soon-to-be-forgotten reminder to be more attentive. Polarclaw lunged to land another strike, feeling his clawed hands rip into her lighter armor. But again he was batted away like a particularly annoying blast-beetle. The drips were more obvious now.

Too scared to come out and fight femme-to-mech?! demanded Flashback as he backed up against a wall. Shadow-huggers were cowards, all of 'em!

Cowardly? countered a voice - a full, indolent voice more delightful than a _s'tmo_ breeze over Polyhex, irony dripping from it like melting ammonia ice. Funny that, the voice commented. _She_ was not the one cowering with her backstrut to the wall. _He_ was.

Fuel dripped to the floor. The skinnier Reptoid, target locked, rushed towards the drop not even an astrosecond after the fact, spinning to let his tail gain momentum. He struck nothing.

Over here! taunted the voice.

Now recovered and fully enraged, Terrashock and the violet Buffaloid femme went after the voice that had come from where the crates lay, thank Maximo, untouched.

 _Beep_

 _Beep_

The bomb reappeared.

 _On top of one of the crates._

"FRACK!" swore the Canyonite in an artillery shell of a voice.

He surged towards the rigged crate in the hopes of disarming the explosive. But the other still-standing mech wasn't so foolish. Howlitzer dove towards the stairs and swapped forms. This femme were madder than a virus-ridden turbo-fox! No wonder Hoodwink stuck to wireless communications. She were a health hazard all by herself.

By the time the charging Buffaloids even thought of turning tail it was already too late. An explosion and a blinding flash wracked the underground chamber, followed by more, and more, and more smaller ones as the explosives in the crates triggered. Rust and Polonium and debris hurled every which way. The surface world above rattled and groaned in protest. A supporting beam shuddered and bent, crashing down to block the hidden stairwell where Howlitzer's form was crouched.

* * *

The trembling, the thunder, and the cloud of particulates settled. The crates were now more, rent to pieces by the flurry of explosions, and their contents fared no better: guns were scattered about, some shattered in half, some in pieces; the grenades fragmented; the powder and pearls, carefully packaged, had gone up in flames. And the room itself looked as if it had suffered from a War-era air raid, the prone forms of the buyers and their supplier felled like so many terrestrial timbers.

Howlitzer blinked in shock. Hoodwink hadn't be joshing. This Seeker was a _cliz'an myet_ –a calamity-bringer. Challenge her on her territory and she'd ravage you like a starved beast.

Her form was made visible a second time that night. She was a deep polished onyx femme accented with rich crimson, with yellow optics that looked as if they belonged on a beast and burned like molten iron. Femme weren't tall by any means, but her body was lithe and supple and powerful like a Panthron's, her curved-tip wings strong and stiff. Her body bore no sharp angles – everything about her flowed together like rippling oil. Her helm bore an extension that swept back, blade-like, towards those exotic wings. A red arrow marking surmounted the inky blackness of that strangely avian helm, sweeping to the very tip of that extension of her helm and to jost before the forward slant that shadowed those burning iron optics. Red projections not unlike horns swept back from her cheek and jost below her forehelm, and further red horns formed her heelstruts. Even her wrists bore those horn-like protrusion, guarding her hands. A she-demon, that's what she was to him – a demonic femme of unparalleled physical beauty, seductive to a fault, and unquestionably, recklessly dangerous.

And she were hurt, too.

She wasn't hunching, but her silvery hands were covering a deep gash on her side, and there were further rends on her arms - some looked like shrapnel cuts. Her air cycling, too, was somewhat labored. But even all that didn't mar her beauty any.

"Detective Sen-Sent-Sen-ten-za," he greeted in a stumble. What a queer name.

He held out a hand, and the one not busy holding a mesh breach came out to meet it. Her grip was sure, confident.

"Nice to meet you, Howlitzer," she said, smiling through clenched denta. She looked around, "Uh...sorry about the mess."

He jerked his pauldrons in a shrug, near to grinning. She sure didn't _sound_ sorry. Never did a femme sound more pleased.

"Not me business, not me problem," he assured.

Fair enough she answered with that hurt-hauled smile. But he'd best get going. Some friends of hers from the seventh were coming for clean-up, and she couldn't risk him breaking cover.

Aye, he nodded, will do.

He made for the stairs.

"Oh, and give you-know-who my regards, will you?"

He nodded again, giving her the tiniest hint of a smile.

"Aye."

She smile became more candid. "Not much for talking, are you?"

The Ticosun's smile grew.

"Nay."

He left.

* * *

 **Author's Note: This is one of two short-stories I'll be presenting to the writing class fiction workshop, because I'm not quite sure which one to present. Technically it falls into the trope of being a crime drama (I don't see how that's a trope, because some of them are really, really good** – **Castle or the Mentalist for example) so I tried to stick away from some of the common tropes for the genre. This is more about getting and using information rather than guns and explosions and stuff you see in highly action oriented dramas like NCIS: LA or Macguyver (still love Macguyver), and gives some growth to the character of Sen'za** – **because my gosh, I love this character _to death,_ and I'm loving having Kaon as a sci-fi, alien London to goof around in.**

 **Which one should I present? This one, or Light Brooding? I want a vote here. It's due by the 30th of the month.**


	16. Chapter 13

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

Part 13: A Prediction of Murder

* _This will be a look into Counterforce's side of crime-fighting and life. I did it with Sen (and will keep doing it) so I figure the humble nightlight needs some loving while on the job, too. Not sure how many parts this will be, but let's get going, shall we?_

 _*Takes place roughly three deca-cycles (three "weeks") after "Light Brooding."_

* * *

WEST QUADRANT, PRAXUS  
SOLDIER'S BREW PUB; ABANDONED  
TIME: 2120 HOURS

Sunlight peeked through the semi-rusted rafters above, illuminating the hollow belly of what had once been the most popular pub in the Northwest Quadrant. Particles of rust and acid-eaten metal swayed in the piercing north wind. A mighty supporting beam in the middle of the main hall had collapsed inward, creating a ramp to the buckling roof. Hidden beneath the floor and concealed by the shadows, blast-beetles and glitch-mice clicked and scurried as they steadily ate away at the building itself. A sad end to such a fine business, but it had been struggling of late due to the presence of other, more modern oil houses and taverns in the area. It would have been torn down per protocol for abandoned buildings but for the efforts of admirers. Patrons and the owners hadn't had the spark to see the Brew dismantled. And so it stood on, rusting and slowly disintegrating from acid rains, fallen but still standing proud.

A form crept deeper into the decrepit building. From reception into the main hall it tip-toed, the flaxen light dancing off a winged avian helmet. A lunar-hued visor shielded a pair of sun-moon optics that flicked around the building's interior, searching, searching – for something it hoped he would not find. But it kept going regardless. Skirting away from the truth was not an admirable trait in a law officer. So further in it moved, past the private lounges and towards the back rooms used by the servers and brewers. The visor busily ate up any data it could find as the winged helm jerked around: composition of the rust, health of the invasive wildlife, structural integrity of the building and its interior sections, energy concentrations in the atmosphere –

The winged helm stopped cold, staring at a smaller room to his immediate right. The shimmering holo-visor had isolated the unique signature of the thing he was hoping he wouldn't find in such a respectable, if abandoned, place of business.

The form forewent caution and darted forward, into one of the side rooms where a smaller supporting column had collapsed from the incessant nibblings of the glitch-mice. Huddled beneath it was a body, unmoving and cold. A retro-rat was busy gnawing and lapping up the glowing spilled fuel.

" _Ekvot'q_..." Counterforce swore softly.

He dared not disrupt even the fine sheet of rust beneath his trods and so his steps were sprightly, only the tips gracing the ground. Reaching the column, he knelt down. The retro-rat squealed and tried to defend its meal, but a hand ignited and was waved at it. Squealing again, the vermin scampered away. He set about analyzing her. The femme was small, a mini-bot, roughly fourteen feet in height, comely in shape, her frame shaded pale green and canary yellow with dashes of lunar white. Once glowing optics were dim. Her cause of death was plain, and it brought back bad memories: a violently wrenched open chassis and chamber, neck cables split apart, baby blue fuel leaking from the rupture points that dripped still.

" _Ekvot'q..._ " he murmured again.

A hand reached out to hover above her ruptured chassis but never touching it. Behind the visor, a single silvery tear slipped out.

He'd failed, and now a vital link lay dead.

* * *

 _Two joors earlier..._

FIFTEENTH PRECINCT, PRAXUS  
LOWER EAST QUADRANT

Sighing, Counterforce leaned onto his left elbow and continued to read the datapad in his hands. It wasn't one of the official ones though – the one held in his hand was a private datapad connected to a Kaonian reporter friend of Sen with whom she had arranged to keep him updated of Nightdemon attacks. Clickbait was oblivious about the reasoning behind it, knowing not her secret, but she was on top of her game and even ran a site dedicated to theorizing about the nature of the Demon. Most of it was absurd, of course, but some of it was dangerously near the truth. In particular, Sen had warned him that attacks became far more frequent during the _d'xrv lom_ – the Gelid Dark That Lingers. That made sense – those five long nights offered no light from the twin moons, and sunlight during the solar cycle scarcely lingered for no more than a joor or so before the dark swallowed it again.

And the _d'xrv lom_ was coming up in a mere deca-cycle.

Fingers crossed, he thought, that Mourncall's meditation trick could help. Her talks with him indicated that it was in fact helping her, and she now felt safe enough to go out on night missions for her work _–_ well, sometimes. Sen often tempted fate, but never consciously. Either way, he was tempted to ask his chief for some time off then, so he could be there for her as a back up plan.

 _Tap! T-Tap! T-Tap!_

His helm jerked up from the datapad on hearing that unique, two-handed knock. Mazerunner was there, attempting valiantly to keep his proper posture despite his body's want to bounce. The datapad was stashed. He rose.

"Labby? What's up?"

"There's a – there's a 'bot here. Wants our help."

Funny he noted privately. The young patroller seemed...uncomfortable. That wasn't like him. Not a lot bothered him.

His helm tilted, a question wordlessly asked.

"A sensorium. Ghostwrite."

His brow ridges arced up. "Ghostwrite? The sensorium author?"

Mazerunner nodded.

"Chief wants you in."

Mazerunner darted back out only to smack into Gundog and tumble back. The larger mech merely grunted and strode past him, giving him a pat on the helm like the patroller was a particularly ditsy but adored pet turbo-fox. The smaller mech smiled and stuck his glossa out. Theirs was an odd pairing for sure – one gruff, reticent, and sure of his heading, the other light-sparked, intelligent, and far less sure. But they got along well enough. He always found it funny that Gunny's ability to preemptively guess where someone would be didn't seem to work with the directionally challenged, occasionally klutzy Mazerunner. They canceled each other out, he supposed.

Counterforce joined the younger patroller and let him lead him towards his chief's office. He had to wonder why Aegis hadn't just comm'd him – that was the usual. Sending messengers indicated this was potentially confidential information, or maybe...well, Ghostwrite _was_ known for being a bit of a paranoiac in her unique field. Her beliefs concerning the practices of the dead were...distinct and peculiar.

Mazerunner stopped at the door and motioned him in before trotting off to resume his tasks.

* * *

"As I said, one can never be too careful!" the comely mini-bot femme reiterated. "This is not information I would trust outside this room. Too many Voiders outside! They don't want to be in this room – can't imagine why – but you can never really tell with some of them. Some act friendly but have dark intent. Former Decepticon warriors, I suspect. Not even terminating heals their subversive natures. I'm amazed they haven't given you or your officers any trouble, but the other Voiders might be keeping them in check – you know, the Slaughter victims."

The imposing crimson and royal purple form of Commander Aegis – lovely mech, had his wits about him, and _quite_ handsome as most Vosian Seekers were – merely nodded, hands clasped together atop his desk, smiling pleasantly but looking distinctly lost. Poor mech. He didn't seem to be aware of the danger. How strange. That one spark, the bouncy red one with the affable, incessant voice, had said he was intelligent and heeded testimony, no matter how outlandish they might sound to him. She'd gotten the same impression from that young patroller – former scout she suspected, in a past life. War was never kind to innocent mechs like that, but he'd been given a second chance in a safer environment.

"Forgive my confusion, Ghostwrite," apologized the Seeker mech. "Your language is... _foreign_ to us. Are you saying you're worried we might be overheard outside my office by...malevolent sparks?"

She nodded vigorously, the Predacon talismans hung round her neck cables dinging against her upper chassis. One out there, she said, had been –

Her words cut off when the door to the office hissed open. Permitted was another handsome mech with inklings of pseudo-beast framework. Yes, handsome young officer, distinctly Praxian, but the Raptorial design of his helm was more suiting, in her opinion, of a Vizanthan, as was his gorgeous dulled gold color with its shimmering silver accents. A pale gold visor hid his optics, but through it she could just discern a captivating case of heterochromia, like the light of the planet's sun and twin moons had been trapped within them. Powerful protection, those lights. But that was nothing compared to the powerful aura emanating from him: a heat she could almost see – a faint, roiling field of soothing sun-fire. A faint song resonated within it – an old song, a powerful song, one sadly long forgotten by her race. Hands behind his backstrut, legs and pedes at parade rest, he nodded to his commanding officer and then nodded to her in the same formal manner.

"Sir," he said. "Miss."

Ghostwrite rose and came towards him, beaming. "My, my, my! Let's get a look at you! You've seen a lot, I'm sure!"

His military rest faltered. "Erm, I-I suppose. But I thought...?"

She tapped at the officer's legs, pulled a hand out from behind to examine it, patting it then letting it drop. The side of her helm was placed on his chassis to her the pulsing throb of the spark within, the sound alone making her smile. Yes indeed. This was a spark that hadn't been cycled since long ago. Old one, powerful one – one the Denied and Voiders outside might well try to avoid from angering. But it was sleeping. Only time could wake it. Time and...something else. What else?

"Er..." he mumbled, taking a step back at the invasion of personal space. "Can I ask why you're here?"

"Oh! yes!" she twittered. "Forgive me, forgive me. Wonderful spark you have. A good one!"

He smiled awkwardly, casting a sideways glance at his commander as if silently asking for help.

"I have information," she stated, "of a crime to be committed in the near future. A contract killing."

Those shy, modest optics riveted on her then. "What? Who's the target and killer? Where? Why? How?"

"Oh, no, no! I can't say that! They'll hear! They're following me, you know! They have been ever since I performed the contact! They're outside!"

"They?"

"The Ones Denied Entry!"

His expression became puzzled, yet cleared at once. "What?"

"The Ones Denied Entry!" she repeated.

"For Primus' sake, femme!" grunted Aegis in a burst of temper. "Just tell us! If you won't tell us we can't help! We're not mind readers!"

She barely heeded him. Poor, poor mech. He didn't understand! It wasn't just she who was in danger. Her life had been forfeit the moment she'd made contact with that poor, wretched, grief-wracked Voider in the Praxus Crypts. Such sorrowful wails! She could hear them still. Abandon! Murder! Hate! Where was her light? Help! Stuck in-between! Shadow consumes!

"Is there a safe place we can talk? A place where...they...can't follow you?"

The femme considered for a moment. Very little she knew about the Denied, but it was curious – the ones lurking outside had shied back, cursing in their profane, unholy language, from the officer's aura. Perhaps with the right assistance and locale she could mimic that aura to keep them back. But what was he comprised of? What made this mech who he was? What made this precinct what it was? She circled him again, poking and examining the officer as he stood once more in parade rest. Yes, yes. Military might. Some place associated with the military, Praxian military of course, would be decent. The precinct, too, had an air of genial cooperation she'd sensed and seen plainly. The Commander did not order but request. That wasn't narrow enough though. No, no. She needed more. Her hands reached up tapped at his neck cables. Somewhere inside that mass, at the back of his throat, was his vocalizer. She hiked up onto the tips of her trods and forced his mouth open, peering inside. He gave a curious sound from it but he didn't fight. She removed her hands and it closed. Her index digit and thumb curled under her chin plate, hemming. Honesty, perhaps? The transparent facial guards said as much. That would mean a place where truths were spoken without restraint.

There was something else though. She'd gotten a hint of it, but she wanted to be clear. Sympathetic magic required exacts, not estimates.

"Your commander told me you had quite the list of successes to your name, sir," she smiled. "That was why I asked for you out of the lot."

He smiled in that shy, modest way again. "I-I don't know about that, miss. The others are successful, too. I wouldn't be where I am without Flint's or Aegis's help. Or Evac."

 _Modesty_. That was it! A place was needed that was simple, homely, a place that didn't scream for attention but earned it and remained humble throughout success and failure.

"Yes, I think there's a place we can meet. But I'll need time to purify it."

"Can you at least tell us who the target is?" Aegis wondered. "We can warn them, offer protection."

Her smiled saddened. These poor mechs truly were blind to the danger that lurked just outside the door.

"You've already helped, sirs, but a life will end despite your efforts and mine. But I will say this: even a humble brew can invoke fame."

She nodded with forced significance, hoping they understood. She left the room.

* * *

Bewildered, Aegis regarded Counterforce with a desire for answers. Were all sensoriums this...oblique and cryptic? He had stories of some aiding in crime solving, but...he didn't know. The femme seemed a bit off to him. Kooky. Was she the real deal or a fraud? He hadn't understood half the words she'd been using, but at times he had gotten an inkling.

A suspicion.

This was purely spiritual business, that much he gathered right away, and he wasn't much of a believer in aimless spirits truth be told. Sparks returned to the Well on death to sleep, they didn't stick around and wander. That was what his Guardians had taught him, and nothing yet had challenged that belief. But evidence was evidence. Ghostwrite had certainly been agitated and insisted about having a safe place to speak. Her behavior reminded her of a snitch – scared, unclear language, and unwilling to say what it was she knew. She was scared "They" would overhear: these "Denied" as she called them. Denied from what? Why? Who were they? She had said they were outside, following her...but no one had been outside the office.

"Well? Any ideas?"

Counterforce didn't answer. His expression was thoughtful, troubled.

"The threat is real, sir," he said softly. "And I think she is, too."

"You think she's a real sensorium?"

He glanced sideways at him through the visor. "Even if she's not, she's certainly scared of something: these Denied. If they're not sparks, they sound like beings who still do pose a threat. But if they are sparks, I don't know how we're supposed to circumvent them. The dead are pure energy now – we can't touch them. They no longer have bodies to use."

That was some relief. "So they can't hurt anyone?"

"Not necessarily," Counterforce argued. "There are stories of forced enthrallings, but they're just that – stories. There's no way to actually prove them true or not. Some of them date all the way back to the Iron Age. All the enthrallings I've read of and heard of up to this point were relatively harmless. Predacon _Æ'vit_ can consciously control these take-overs. That's how they receive much of their knowledge of the past and the near future: through enthrallment. All those sparks do is relay information to them, treating them like conduits to the living, and there's no fight between sparks for control. It's a very fluid transfer. But these Denied..." he frowned, "first I've heard of them. Whoever or whatever they are, they are dangerous. I believe her, sir. She's scared of them."

Aegis shuttered his optics twice. He still wasn't following. Spiritual matters were far from being his strongest field. But Counterforce had become obsessed with the _Æ'vit_ and with sensoriums ever since the Horned Crown case. He knew this topic about as well as the Xanxoran monks.

"So what do you suggest we do? You know more about this field than I do, son. I'm walking blind here. Lend me a light."

He paced to and fro three times, index digit arced above his lip-plates. Aegis managed a minuscule smile. Always the thinker, Counterforce was. Honestly, there were times he thought he was more suiting of being a professional scholar, not a homicide investigator. It was so easy to picture him teaching a class, giving an Academy lecture on anything from forensics to spirituality.

He paced in his loop one more time. The visor rose.

"The Blue Moons. Their _Æ'vit_. They might know something about this. Ghostwrite's obviously not going to talk, at least not until she feels safe."

Bewildered, he asked: "But what about Ghostwrite? She says someone's following her!"

"Those things around her neck cables – those were Predacon talismans to ward off darkness. Blue Moon make from the look of them. Ghostwrite is known to consort with the Blue Moon _Æ'vit_ , Sweetspice. Some of the stories she writes comes straight from her during an enthralling. If anyone knows more about this, she does. I'll ask Gunny if he knows where she is."

He took a few paces over to the door. It hissed open to bid him leave.

"Be quick," A hand rose to point at him. "If she's in danger of any kind..."

Counterforce looked back at him then with the most peculiar expression he'd seen of him. His sole gold optic was shining brighter than its lunar twin. Funny. He'd noticed that back in Crystal City, and it happened every once in a while here in Praxus. He'd no idea of the cause. It just seemed to...happen. If there _was_ a trigger, he hadn't figured it out yet.

"She is," he said.

He left. The door hissed shut.

Aegis shuttered his optics again.

"Then shouldn't we send someone to protect her...?" he wondered to the empty air.

No answer met him. The hand was reluctantly lowered. Shaking his helm, frowning, he sighed, a hand massaging his puckered brow ridges.

Counterforce had said those talismans would protect her...but how could a trinket protect better than a trained officer?

* * *

Finding Sweetspice was the easy part. Getting her attention would be the real challenge. Blue Moons were notoriously hyperactive, and out on the vast plains that extended beyond Praxus, they had plenty of room to run.

It was out into those vast plains that Counterforce drove, drawn to the sound of chipper barks and yips where Gunny had said he'd find the tribe. Twenty klicks ahead of him a group of small Canipids were employing their erratically controlled herding technique on a bewildered colony of retro-rabbits, a trio of sparklings tumbling around, yipping, as they tried to mimic their elders' snapping, fluid movements. Where they were herding them wasn't immediately clear, but they didn't seem to be displaying hunting behavior. Practice most likely. Abundant prey in the area meant they could afford it.

Even just a klick away they barely heeded him – indeed, most didn't seem to notice his presence. But a rider on the outer lines of the formation spotted his form and, forgetting the practice like a suddenly bored child, peeled away and bounded towards him, barking up a storm. He was a rather simple build, the rider, a pale silver and bronze Canipid of a slender build with extremely large audials that reminded him a little of satellite dishes. Skidding, the rider stopped before him and kept up with the barking storm, bouncing around him.

" _Bekunt! Bekunt! Bekunt!_ " barked the Blue Moon mech. Tail a-wag, he bowed – and then proceeded with his bouncing barks.

The rest of the tribe might as well have been oblivious.

It was all he could do to not laugh at the mech's ridiculous energy. Crouching down, he let the Canipid plant his paws on his knee pikes and get a closer look at him, barking being replaced with curious whines. The satellite-audials pinned back, then perked forward.

"Sorry to interrupt, but where's Sweetspice?" he asked. "I need her help."

" _Æ'vit_?" yipped the rider. " _Bot'hacv_ _Æ'vit!_ " His helm jerked over to the group. Louder, he repeated: " _Æ'vit!_ _Æ'vit!_ "

No answer.

" _Æ'vit!_ _Æ'vit!_ " barked the rider again.

Finally, a response. One Blue Moon, a remarkably tiny and slender Canipid not much larger than a mini-bot paused in her practice to turn her helm in their direction. One audial was pierced with ring on which clung the claws of flash-ferrets and the thin, translucent wings of mecha-moths, and around her neck were talismans not unlike those that Ghostwrite wore. Her bright, almost canary-yellow optics stood out against her dark sand, rust-orange body, and the tip of her long, bushy, soot-black tail bore red glyphs. In a flash of movement she broke from the the pack and bounded over, audials pinned back to reduce drag. Her body folded and before long there stood a slender femme with a long, narrow face who barely stood up to his hip.

"Want something?" she said in her quick bark of a voice. Helm to the side, she blinked.

"Ghostwrite," he said. "She's in danger from...something. Or someone else is. I'm not sure. She was vague. What can you tell me about the Ones Denied Entry?"

Her bright yellow optics grew large. Her hand performed a strange gesture, two fingers arcing before jerking away as if to push.

" _Hvet_!" she barked. "We do not speak of them! What you want I cannot tell!"

"Someone's life is a risk from them, Sweetspice!" he repeated, his tone growing more urgent, "I need to know how to protect whoever it is they're after!"

Sweetspice's helm shook as an odd, growling hiss escaped her vocalizer.

"Told femme not to disturb crypt!" she said. "Now _cek'zachen'ts_! Knowledge destroyed has price _ol'prtya_!"

"Crypt?" he demanded. "Whose?"

"The one you called _P_ _yk'alicva_."

The translation came in an instant: blot of ink.

"Inkblot? This has something to do with a cold case, Sweetspice! What was she in there for? Please! Tell me!"

"Did not tell," said Sweetspice with a frown. "All I told her was bad dream. Big shadow swallow 'bot! Then swallow another! Crypt shown. Then black – all black. No light! Hear crying! Hers, in crypt. Woke."

He froze. A scream echoed, and a terrified face stared back at him from across the stellar cycles.

Folklore's nightmare.

Was Inkblot still trying to get a message across – even after all this time? Had Ghostwrite managed to make contact with her in her crypt? Had she learned something about the Horned Crown Killing?

"Is Ghostwrite in danger? Can the Denied hurt her?"

"Not with _vanich'ye_ – charm," she told him simply, grabbing hold of her own and showing it to him. "Special-craft, that. Blessed by shrine. No dark can touch!"

He blinked. That didn't make sense. Ghostwrite had warned them of a murder, but if she wasn't in danger then whose was she warning of? He'd thought for a moment with that strange, resigned expression she'd had on her faceplates that the victim was her, but if the Denied couldn't hurt her so long as she wore those charms...then who _was_ in danger of death? "A contract killing" she'd said. Someone was arranging for a murder: a hit.

He needed to find Ghostwrite.

 _Now._

But where was she?

"Even a humble brew can invoke fame..." he murmured.

He knew where to find her. It was a riddle with an obvious answer.

* * *

Ghostwrite finished her survey of the location, standing in a shaft of sunlight that peeked through the buckling roof above her. The wire-reeds in her hand smoked gently, releasing a fragrant odor. Lines on the ground, drawn in a mixture of Energon and oil, spider-webbed around the room she stood in.

Military standing? Check. The Soldier's Brew had been frequented by military members for groons after the Reconstruction. Place had been a real favorite with them. Why, she even remembered going there of an evening in her youth. Oh, the music she'd heard from the Voiders within! She could hear a handful of them still, too attached to the place to leave.

Cooperative air? Check. All factions had been welcome so long as they'd gotten along. No brawls allowed! it said on the lopsided and rusting sign on the old reception podium. Beneath those glyphs was a merged Autobot and Decepticon crest, and two stylized Predacons – one Felioid, one Canipid – were up on their hind legs, paws touching.

Honesty? Check. 'Bots became far more loose-lipped after a few drinks, speaking things they wouldn't ordinarily. Everyone knew that!

Modesty? Of course! The Brew had been founded by a colonial couple, former War soldiers, who'd simply wanted a place where anyone, regardless of past or standing, could come and enjoy themselves. It had been a small place, growing over the groons, but it always retained that air of humility – from its architecture to its barkeeps to its patrons. They'd never tried to branch out – they'd never needed to. It wasn't the income they'd been after but the _atmosphere_. Even in death the building was humble about its eventual failure.

All around her she could hear the faint songs of Voiders too attached to the building, its former patrons, and owners to leave. Beautiful music, one translated by tribals and Xanxorans in their songs and hymns. A pity that the majority of her kind were too deaf to hear them!

A pedefall made her turn, the talisman dinking against her upper chassis before settling again. The owner stepped into view: an impressive and imposing femme, the stranger was pseudo-beast Reptoid. Her tension relaxed. Just a passerby coming to visit the crumbling monument. Many former patrons did so. The passerby gave her an odd smile. Something wasn't right about it – but it looked friendly enough she supposed. Reptoids couldn't help but seem off when smiling thanks to their fang-like dental plates. The newcomer apologized with that not-quite-right smile of hers that she hadn't meant to disturb her. She thought she'd been quiet enough she said as she stepped closer. But the closer the newcomer drew the more she sensed something wasn't right. She backed away, wary, but the stranger kept coming closer.

And closer.

And closer.

Her backstrut hit the exterior wall of adjacent room.

Those fanged dental-plates became even more visible when the lip-plates retracted up in a snarl. Her helm moved in a strange, jerking manner as if suffering a seizure.

" _V_ _'vnaiq n'gofck c'gthu_ ," the Reptoid said in a harsh, guttural voice her vocalizer screamed against using, " _lruhj gheflev bxoj_ _n'gofck_ _kphai ahgnot!_ "

Just hearing the foul, profane language made her spark wither and tremble inside its chamber. A bad language – a corrupted language. No good spark was meant to hear it spoken in the mesh.

Her limbs controlled by an ethereal hand of dark, the Reptoid's clawed hands were lifted. Once yellow optics deepened to a violet darker than anything she'd seen. This was no innocent passerby. Or maybe they were and they'd been dragged into this against their will – the Denied held no reservations about forced control of the living. _She_ was protected from them – that didn't mean everyone else was.

Ghostwrite tried to run, managing to make it into a ride room where a big supporting beam had come crashing down, but those hefty clawed hands wrenched out to grab her. She tried to scream; all that came out was a whimper. She tried again.

A flash of movement.

A spurt of blue.

Pain erupted as her neck cables were rent asunder. Her chassis soon followed.

Darkness fell.

* * *

The body was kicked away, hidden beneath the crook of the beam and the floor.

Grunting, the Reptoid femme turned tail and plodded out the back entrance. On reaching the doorways her body's stiff movement lapsed. A pair of yellow optics blinked once. On seeing her fuel-stained hands those optics went round in horror. Terrified, her mind blank of answers, she ran. Instinct told her to head for the nearest station, but her emotional centers were screaming at her to go into hiding.

What had she done?

* * *

A golden and silver form raced and wove between oncoming traffic, too frantic to follow the basic laws of the road. Horns were honked at him and a few colorful descriptions flung, but he barely heard them over his own screaming engine.

Ghostwrite had given him a hint. He knew where she was, though why she hadn't said so outright was a mystery with no ready answer. But going by the example of Predacon dream-walkers and Ghostwrite's own writings, sensoriums could be more than a touch oblique in their wording. Their language was not an easy one to translate. But she was in no danger from the Denied according to Sweetspice, whoever or whatever they were, thanks to the talismans so maybe they could talk where she was holing up: an old but lovable oil house called the Soldier's Brew. Small place but well-loved, so the long-time patrons were saddened when the solar cycle came for them to close up shop – old Macadam had driven them out of business. But, ever jovial, they'd hired the Brew's workers to compensate them.

He screeched to a stop on reaching the old, crumbling tavern. Even in modest death it was still proud, unwilling to bow down to time, the elements, or city protocol for that matter. He remembered coming here as an aspiring trainee, fresh out of the Academy, enjoying the cooperative atmosphere so tenderly constructed. But that was neither here nor now. He could not see Ghostwrite through the crumbling walls; his scanners were devoid of movement, and there was...

Oh slag.

The visor snapped down, and he vanished inside in a blur.

Inside, the building looked much the same as it had since closing. With protocol to destroy it subverted but no one to maintain it, it had steadily degraded over the groons, but it still had that friendly feel to it even when falling to pieces and rusting away in humble submission to defeat. But now, as anxiety for Ghostwrite mounted, it began to look like the abandoned business it really was and not a crumbling monument to good times and tolerance. Further in he went, optics and helm sweeping around in steady arcs like a searchlight to feed the largest amount of data to the visor as possible. A trio of glitch-mice squeaked and bolted from behind one bit of shelter to another, and beneath him were the clicks and skitterings of blast-beetles as they tunneled away out of sight. Wildlife population was good; rust composition and atmospheric molecules appeared normal; structural integrity of the building was less than optimal, but it wouldn't come crashing down on him on spur of the moment at least. But the energy reading was further in, so further in he went.

He swept his helm in another arc, praying he wouldn't find what his unconscious was telling him he would. That was the price he paid for being in this field: Innocence, it argued, was a commodity.

His helm stopped cold, locked onto the sight of a side room. His visor blinked away in a silent frenzy.

Energon. In that room, and it dribbled outside of it in a thin trail, leading towards the back entrance.

Oh no.

 _No._

 _Oh please just be a dead rust hound..._

On quick, delicate trods he passed into the side room. On spotting what lay across from him, his spark sank. Huddled beneath a fallen support column as if shoved into the nook...was Ghostwrite's body, the chassis torn open, the neck cables rent asunder. A retro-rat gnawed on the wrenched open chassis and chamber, a tube-like proboscis of a glossa lapping up the sensorium's leaking life. Offense burned through him. How dare that little vermin mess with a crime scene, a crime scene not meant to be, a crime scene he could've stopped from existing? He wanted to rush forward, shout at it and beat it, but instead kept that same, delicate step. Noticing his approach, it reared up and squealed. Kneeling, a flash of his hand and a low snarl of his engine made the squealing vermin flee.

Regret replaced offense.

" _Ekvot'q..._ " he murmured.

He could've stopped this.

He could've stopped this.

He could've _stopped_ this.

And he hadn't. He hadn't taken the threat seriously. No, no – he had. He just hadn't...hadn't thought Ghostwrite was predicting her own death.

" _Ekvot'q..._ "

That same silver hand, unimpressive and humble, dimmed and extended forward to hover over the ruptured chassis. From behind the visor, a single silvery tear of lubricant fell onto the rust-laden metal panels of the Brew's flooring.

She'd put her faith in him. He'd failed. Now Inkblot would probably never get the justice she needed to sleep, and her friend would be left without answers.

His expression hardened. Silver flashed in his gaze.

No.

Not again.

The hand withdrew, and he rose up. He wouldn't let another femme's death go unanswered for. One was one too many. Two was an insult.

He set out after the trail. Ghostwrite, at least, could get justice.

* * *

Her backstrut against the side of a geometric Praxian precinct, typical of the breed, a lone Reptoid femme stood, chassis heaving. She couldn't bring herself to run any longer. She remembered passing by this precinct to and from her work, on her way to the Brew to pay her respects, but until now she had never been terrified of it. They were all law abiding officers. What would they think? Their chief was a nice mech, notorious for giving the benefit of the doubt, but...would he believe her? Would any of them believe her innocence? No, there was no way. The Energon said otherwise. And – oh great Primus, what would Brittlegrove think of her? What would her Guardians think? What would _Vizanthus_ think?

Her yellow-orange gaze jerked down. The Energon on her trembling limbs was drying, caking, sticking to her frame like a second mesh. Frantically she began scratching at the substance, tearing at her own armor to try to remove it. That only made it worse, her claws rupturing her armor and adding more, fresher fuel to the coating. Hissing her pain aloud, her air cycling became frantic as she continued to scratch and tear. No, no, no, no! I-It wouldn't come off! She was Marked. Oh Primus! No, please! She was innocent!

' _No, you're not_!'

Those words rang in her helm. Condemnation. If she'd hurt o-or killed someone...then she deserved the punishment the officers would met out. Even if she didn't remember what she'd done.

Trembling still, and continuing her scratching, Isohyet slunk towards the side door. Raising a fuel-stained hand, she rapped on the door. She didn't even know where it led. She didn't know much of anything anymore – only that someone was hurt because of her, and she didn't remember who or why or how or when.

The door hissed open. Inside, she could glimpse what looked like a medical bay, and she thought she caught a glimpse of a femme further in. A portly mech with a full visor, colored dark military green and vibrant orange appeared, gaze focused inside rather than at her, and mid-sentence:

"Pit if I will! If that crazy Horned Crown nutter's struck again, I am _so_ –"

He turned in all innocence to see who it was. He froze. The visor brightened as his mouth hung open. A little spark danced around that visor, the mech's processor short-circuiting.

"Help," she said. "Please."

* * *

 **Two Parter it is! :D**


	17. Chapter 14

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

Part 13: A Prediction of Murder Part Two

* _I'm having way too much fun with the new Monstrology system in Wizard101. Very fun mechanic. :) I'm also enjoying the fact the camera doesn't jerk around during combat anymore between individual enemies when you defeat them_ _–_ _it's much smoother now, and stays zoomed out. Also, the new Wandering Eye pet is criminally adorable. Was hoping for a tiny Mystic Colossus pet, but this'll do. :3_

 _*Now that the big histo paper and presentation are done, all I have left to do in Humanities is a final essay (due May 3rd). In gov't, I've got a final and a final paper, plus a short extra credit paper. British Lit: maybe? final (he hasn't clarified). And a non-fiction workshop + some minor "experiments" for Writing as they're called, which are done. After that, I'm basically free for a month before my summer speech class starts. :D Here's hoping Dr. Klice is nice._

* * *

She couldn't stop trembling. She shook and trembled like a wire-reed stalk in a gale on the exam table as the strange flier femme looked her over with what she felt was a critical optic. She wanted the Energon off her frame, wanted it off bad enough to start scratching at her mesh again, but the femme, Evac she'd said her name was, gently grabbed the disobedient limb and removed it for the third time, grunting at her to "knock that off." The blade-flier _seemed_ nice enough _–_ so did the other mech, Hoist _–_ but she couldn't shake the feeling that they were both silently condemning her. Evac and Hoist may be acting neutral, but the occasional blip of ~ _anger_ ~ and ~ _confusion_ ~ in their fields, or a suspicious, quizzical sideways glance at one another gave them away. They probably viewed in her anxiety unequivocal guilt. Primus knew she deserved every iota of that accusatory sense. She was an amnesiac attacker covered in the spilled fuel of a stranger she couldn't remember harming, scratching at the self-inflicted wounds the substance had generated. She just wanted the stuff off, but neither medic was doing her the favor. And why should they? She had fresh evidence all over her, some of it still actively drying. They needed their evidence. They could figure out who she'd attacked with it, right?

When Evac rose to hover over one of her many laboratory counters to deposit a sample of the fuel cocktail, she began scratching again. Hoist came over and gently grabbed the limb again, keeping it still until the other femme returned. The look on her faceplates _–_ it said everything. Evac opened her mouth to speak, or maybe ask a question. She couldn't tell. Her expression was a labyrinth at worst, a riddle at best. She faltered under that ambiguous look, helm jerking down and preparing for the worst.

But the femme never got the chance to speak.

She couldn't help jumping and letting out a startled yelp when the back door to the laboratory, the same one she'd come in from, hissed open with nary a knock to alert her. A handsome young Praxian _–_ or was he Vizanthan? He looked oddly Vizanthan to her with his Raptorial helm _–_ burst in, panic in his tense, mesh-clinging armor and his weapon, a scimitar, drawn and brandished.

"Evac! Ghostwrite's killer, they're _–_ "

His helm stopped on noting both healers near her. His panic seemed to die down for the moment, unharmed as Evac and Hoist were. Even as she watched that confusion trickled away, and his armor loosened. He deactivated his weapon (oddly trusting of him) and stepped up. Like a mecha-moth drawn to the street lamps at dusk, she found it next to impossible to look away from him as he drew closer, and it became harder still when his visor came down to reveal his optics. Hypnotic they were, one soft lunar silver, the other burning, brilliant solar gold. But it was hard to admire them for the beauties they were, marred as their light was with horror and confusion. But there was no anger in them, none at all _–_ not even a smidge. Why was he not upset? Was he...? Concealing. That's what it was. Unnerved, her fuel-stained hands began scratching at the drying Energon. He was here to condemn her too; he just hid it better.

He grabbed the offending limb in a startlingly warm grasp and set it down against her side.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "You're not hurt, are you?"

She stared at him. He'd come in in a blind panic talking about someone named Ghostwrite being killed, now he was asking her, coated in the Energon of someone she didn't know, if she was alright? Something was wrong with this mech.

"I-I don't know," she answered. "I-I mean, yes. No? Maybe. But I don't remember who or where or, or..."

She began scratching again. Again the mech gently grabbed the limb and removed it, careful to keep his digits away from the open, oozing mesh breaches.

"I can answer the who and where bits for you," he said in a somber voice. "I followed a trail of Energon here from the old Soldier's Brew, where I found a dead sensorium. The trail petered off after a few blocks, but the energy traces in the air remained easy to follow. They led me here. Since you haven't harmed Evac or Hoist I'm assuming as a gesture of good faith you aren't the killer, who's proven they're ruthless and barbaric in their methods. So, judging by the Energon on your frame and the mesh wounds underneath it, I assume you had an encounter with the killer."

But Evac broke in then and said the wounds hadn't been caused by an attacker. Those marks _–_ she'd been doing that herself for the past few breems, she said. Pit of a time getting her, Isohyet her name was, to stop, too. The Energon itself seemed to be the cause of the behavior, and the scratching was just letting more out and worsening the behavior. Some sort of aversion reaction was her guess. She'd seen it happen in some cases on Fringe, especially when _–_

"It won't come off!" she cried, knowing what Evac would say. "It won't come off! I hurt someone and I don't remember! I'm Marked!"

Frantically she began scratching again, more viciously than ever before. It wouldn't come off! It wouldn't come off! But the mech snatched the limbs before they could re-open her mesh again and purposefully held them static. Regardless, the kind act did little to ease her tremblings. Calm down, he murmured to her in a voice softer than mercury. (Why? she wondered. Why was he so calm? So kind?) She didn't have to worry about his precinct he reassured her; they didn't blindly arrest 'bots after leaping to conclusions. Some of her shaking stopped. He pressed onwards. But what _did_ she remember of the...act?

She winced at that hesitation. She knew he'd meant to say "killing." His shy, reluctant field and apologetic expression said as much. He was trying to spare her as much as possible. Strangely noble of him. Vizanthan officers _–_ indeed, many Praxian ones she'd met in the past _–_ had ever been quite so...sensitive.

Her hands slipped out of his. They rose to hold the sides of her helm. She couldn't remember a thing, she whimper-growled to him. Nothing! It was just...just a blank!

His apologetic expression became befuddled, helm tilting to one side. But what about before or after? he wondered in that soft-spoken, well enunciated but casual voice of his. Did she remember any of that?

She thought back, terrified at the yawning gap in her memory banks. She knew she'd gone there, to the Brew, to pay her respects to the building _–_ she'd used to visit as a child, but her career had taken her out to Vizanthus upon earning her mark in climate science. She massaged her temples, hoping it might jog a circuit in her helm somewhere. She remembered pulling up to the curb, smelling something smoldering _–_ a sweet sort of smell, like the incense burners in tombs on _Konemq;_ wire-grass, she thought it was _–_ and...and that was all. She didn't remember anything after going in. The next moment her memory banks had cataloged away, she was outside the back door of the building and her hands... She shuddered. Primus below, her hands...

She couldn't finish.

The shaking came back with a vengeance.

The gap in memory yawned like the maws of a great beast. Nothing. Nothing was there. Empty. Void. Her mind thought nothing had happened during that time. There was no data there. None.

She looked up at him as her hands began to tremble violently, "What did I do? Primes, what did I do?"

The mech didn't answer right away. He instead cast a sideways glance at Evac, whose armor flared outwards before flattening against her frame again, tight. Her helm jerked over to one of the long lab counters, Isohyet's own helm following it. On it was a strange machine that was whispering away. Evac had said it was an analyzer of some kind. She wondered...the new mech had shouted the name "Ghostwrite" when he'd barged in, blade drawn. The name didn't ring any bells...Primes, she hadn't attacked a complete stranger, had she?

At least that was better than attacking someone she'd known, argued a tiny part of her. Like last time. And at least that time she'd remembered it.

Groaning, her helm disappeared into her hands. She felt ill all of a sudden, her tanks churning at the thought. What a despicable thought that was! Stranger or friend, it didn't matter _–_ someone was still dead because of her.

* * *

It was hers. The analyzer was certain despite the fresh fuel polluting the sample.

He cast a quick sideways glance at Isohyet, hoping she wouldn't see _–_ she did. Wincing, her helm dropped into her hands as she quietly shook like a wire-grass frond in a gale. Some criminals felt horror or grief over their crimes, but this didn't seem like that. Wasn't an act either. Her behavior felt dangerously genuine. She was horrified _–_ terrified _–_ of what she had done, more so because she couldn't remember her own actions. She wasn't acting for his benefit _–_ she really was terrified. She'd killed someone and couldn't recall doing so, and the concept alone frightened her.

For a split astrosecond, before his gaze averted, her Reptilian frame flickered like a mirage. Sentenza was on the medical berth in Isohyet's place. A rapid shutter of the optics and Isohyet was there again. He shook his helm. Admittedly, the similarities were uncanny. But...why the forgetfulness? Was the memory repressed through her terror? Was she truly an amnesiac? She didn't look the type. Hard to be an amnesiac in an active, shifting field like climate science.

He glanced at Evac give Isohyet a respite. [Does she have a medical file?]

[I can look. I have a clinic friend in Vizanthus.]

Evac left Isohyet's side and went over to a terminal on the far side of the room. There she fished into the Vizanthan clinic registry, a fairly short list of about a dozen offices. Unwilling to pry, he moved back over to the femme on the medical berth and took up a vigil by her. At first she seemed anxious. Subtle signals like tense armor, sporadically flaring field, and a low-frequency growl of her engine warned him to back away. He protested politely that ~ _harm unintended_ ~ He was just _~concerned_ ~ about her. The more he stood there, the more he kept up his politely subdued protests, the more endangered those signs became. Within the breem, they had gone extinct. He didn't want to cause more anxiety, but maybe now...

She sensed the scrutiny and glanced up at him before her optics fell along with her helm.

"I don't remember anything," she mumbled, "I don't. Please."

He let the subject drop. Forcing memory was a vain process. Memory could be a fickle partner, even for his species. But he did not leave her side. His presence seemed to be keeping her relatively calm and, really, that was all that mattered. So long as she wasn't trying to shred her radial plating off then he was happy.

[Anything?] he asked.

Evac transmitted a data packet. Opening it revealed a list of inoculations, systemic exams, and a few minor repairs of her _–_ huh. Apparently the scratching wasn't a recent thing. She'd been treated for damage to her radial plating once before, after she'd had an altercation with an ex-classmate and previous co-worker after they'd gotten ahold of her research data and claimed it for themselves. The officer who 'd handled the case hadn't detected guilt, but he hadn't detected pleasure either. The report simply said she'd "been protecting what was hers." She'd been released with a fine and a warning, seeing as it was a first offense, and her absconding colleague had been put on unpaid leave for their offense. And she'd remembered the whole thing: before, during, and after.

But she didn't remember this one. Only the before, the after. The present _–_ absent.

Brow ridges furrowed.

"How long has forgetfulness been an issue for you, miss?"

Deep in her own thoughts, Isohyet's helm lurched up at being addressed.

"I-I..." she stammered at first. "I'm not sure. Recently...?"

Uncertainty. It stuck out like collision wreckage on an empty highway.

Doubt, a mere wisp before, began to expand in his spark. He turned. [Evac?]

The femme lifted her rotors to acknowledge the silent question.

[Could you run a diagnostic on her processor functions?]

[Easily.]

He stood aside mechanically to let her approach. Isohyet jerked back, suspicious. Once Evac told her what she intended to do, the suspicion lifted. She seemed happy about the intrusion, near elated, begging Evac to find something _–_ anything _–_ to clarify what she'd done and why. Shadowed as that statement was, it revealed the tortured scientist within. Any sensible 'bot might balk at the idea of a stranger, no matter how well trained or well meaning, performing such an intimate intrusion. But not Isohyet. Without a protest in edgewise, she laid back on the berth and allowed Evac to open up the panels atop which her audials sat. A glittering labyrinth of wires and circuits were revealed, twinkling in rainbow hues. A cable emerged from the medic's arm and connected to a half-hidden port within. Evac's optics narrowed in concentration. Or was it dread? He often found it hard to tell where one emotion ended and one began with Evac.

After an eternally long five breems, Evac disconnected and pulled back with an exhausted sigh. There was dissatisfaction in that release of hot air. He did his best to keep his own lip-plates even.

The look Isohyet gave her was one of pleading terror.

"There's nothing wrong with your processor," Evac reported.

Isohyet gave a relieved sigh.

"But _–_ "

She tensed.

"The odd thing I found was a gap in sensory data and a brief span of time where your processor," she hesitated, glancing at her nearby mate, "...seems to have stopped processing thought and incoming data. It's like your processor simply shut down for a few crucial moments. That's usually something found in cases of blackouts, not necessarily memory loss. The peculiar thing is that blackouts typically have a trigger: Polonium addiction, being over-energized, a separate personality taking control _–_ "

He flinched. Evac's voice went on without him. A high-pitched buzzing and a terrified scream drowned her wavering, full voice under its banshee's wail. Who was screaming he didn't know _–_ it sounded male and female at once, high and low in discordant harmony. The sound made his helm ache and pulse, his spark racing alongside the pounding. Steady as a charging Charger, his sight became rust-washed, and what moments ago had been sharp and distinct became soft and downy like a fledgling tear drop.

A hand touched his pauldron.

The scream and buzz terminated. He shook his helm, blinking. The world was clear-cut and prosaic again, and color as sundry as before. He blinked again to make sure.

* _You alright?_ * asked Hoist, * _You look like you saw a Terrorcon break-dancing._ *

Massaging his helm, he admitted he didn't know. His racing spark and pulsing helm was making coherent analysis difficult. That had been...different.

He let it go for the time being. There was a bigger priority in the room, and she was busy tearing up. Panic was suffusing her as time clicked forward.

"There's no way to, I don't know, recover the data?" Isohyet stammered.

Evac shook her helm. Under normal circumstances then there might be, she said. In a typical case of a blackout, the senses would still be taking in chucks of data, though disconnected and badly corrupted. But her processor seemed to have shut down entirely. So had her senses. She couldn't recover memory bytes if there was nothing there to recover. And the unbridled horror on her faceplates at that statement made Counterforce's spark plummet into the floor. It took only a moment for her helm to vanish into her palms again and for the draconic panic to roar back. The more she spoke, the more he saw of her behavior, the more he was convinced she wasn't acting. What hurt the most was, with no memory bytes to remotely defend her, and apparently no witnesses to the murder, there was no way to prove she _hadn't_ done the deed. Worse, she had a record _–_ of one understandable offense, but still a record. That wouldn't be winning her any points in a trial.

Counterforce rose and headed for the door, unwilling to trust this business over wireless. This was...sensitive. Isohyet was traumatized as it was.

[Counterforce.]

Evac stopped him at the threshold, pulling him to the side beyond it.

[What?]

[Something's not right.]

One brow ridge arced. He'd figured as much. No memory of the deed at all was...convenient; maybe not for Isohyet, but definitely for someone.

[Memory lapses are all well and good. They can be salvaged through sensory reconstruction. Some blackouts can be fixed the same way; there's going to be _something_ there, stored away. With her?] her helm jerked to the door, [there's _nothing_. It's like someone took a patch to her and somehow live-time _blanked_ her, deleting everything as it came in. And there's no evidence _of_ a patch. Her mind, her senses _–_ they just...stopped.]

[Have either of you alerted chief yet?] he asked.

Evac stared through the door at her mate within. He knew that look: the we're-keeping-this-on-the-low-for-now inspecting of co-conspirators. There took place a strange lopsided twisting of his lip-plates. Hoist wasn't usually so keen on being a _sret'ke_ _–_ secret-keeper. Evac on the other hand? That femme could bluff to Aegis's faceplates without flinching if it meant keeping a sister, no matter their frame, safe from undue trouble. That was fair enough here. This was a porcelain situation that required delicate handling. But keeping this secret from the chief wasn't wise and wasn't really sensible in his opinion. Aegis never vaulted to conclusions. Isohyet was in no danger of being cuffed spur of the moment.

[Mind if I tell chief about this?]

She nodded.

He stole a look at the door. [Keep her from scratching, would you?]

[Of course.]

[And keep Flint and Gunny away.]

He left her.

* * *

Dissatisfied, Aegis dropped the encrypted datapad onto his desk with a groan and leaned forward onto his elbows. Two digits massaged his aching helm. Without raising his helm, he looked up at the younger mech standing across from him. That pleading expression of his was more contradictory than his two-toned optics, but it was far from unexpected after the boy had updated him. Dealing with a case like this was something he loathed. But rules were rules _–_ and since he answered to Prowl at the end of the solar cycle, he had to listen to them when murder was involved _– especially_ when murder was involved.

"Son _–_ " he started.

"Sir, please," he protested, "arresting her is wrong. She's innocent. If she were the killer, she would've done the same thing to Evac and Hoist that was done to Inkblot and Ghostwrite. Instead, she's so traumatized she's resorted to _hurting_ _herself_. That doesn't fit the profile we have of the Horned Crown Killer. It doesn't fit the profiles of _any_ Horned Crown Killer."

A hiss of air escaped his vents. If there was one thing the boy was good at other than crime reconstruction, it was logical appeal. He was right on all accounts. Isohyet didn't fit the pattern even though damning evidence was tallied against her.

"Son, unless there's solid proof this femme killed while under coercion of another, Prowl is never going to buy it. Like it or not, he has final say on cases of murder, and you know how literally he takes evidence. Or lack thereof. There's no proof of a patch or...anything for that matter other than a blackout. All we have is a frightened femme whose arms and chassis are stained with Ghostwrite's fuel."

The youth protested that that was an unfair summation of the evidence. It was their duty as officers to avoid condemning the innocent _–_ and that was exactly what he was implying would be done! It wasn't right! Better to risk saving the guilty than condemning the innocent!

"Counterforce, I'm not saying she's _isn't_ innocent. I believe she is. So does Evac. So does Hoist. So do you. That's enough to convince me. But remember, we're not the ones trying her because we'd be biased. It is our duty as well to remain impartial when examining evidence, lest prejudice slither in. All we do is present the evidence, and right now that evidence is sending Isohyet towards a prison cell."

"But sir! It's _wrong_!" argued the boy, palms slamming onto the desk in a surprising display of temper, "We're condemni _–"_

Aegis leaned forward to cradle his chin beneath his thumbs, pointer digits creating a guard over his mouth. "Think for a moment, Counterforce," he implored, "Stop and think. I'm not trying to offend our mutual sense of morality by going along with Prowl's impartial line of thinking. If she really was somehow live-blanked like Evac thinks then whoever did this might give it another go at a later date. Isohyet might be twice a victim. Is it better to leave her in society where she can be pawned _–_ or better to place her somewhere where no one can get at her? Being in a cell might be the safest option for her until we find out who or what was involved with this incident."

Sun and moon flickered.

His vindication was processed.

Stunned hands vacated the desk.

"So this'd be a kind of...quarantine so to speak?" asked the youth. "As much for her benefit as for everyone else?"

He agreed. This was by no means the nicest or prettiest solution for this problem, he admitted, but it would be a practical one. Yes, he said, they could be putting an innocent in prison, but not necessarily for her having committed a crime. It was more a decision on pragmatism and an obligation to ensure Isohyet didn't have to go two-for-two. Putting her in a cell was the kindest, most moral thing they could do for her. And he promised he would ensure the cell was among the safest ever built _–_ Pit, he'd make sure she was on a prison ship so any unwanted visitors had an even tougher time getting near enough to use her.

"Using an innocent to do your dirty work is something I won't stand for," he finished.

His officer pulled back and began his absorbed pacing, this version more languid than most he'd seen. Those irresolute pauses before his trods met ground spoke louder than Blare's megaphone voice. Poor boy was at a moral conundrum here it seemed. He halted, one trod hovering just above the ground, and the way his optics focused on him reminded him a sniper's scope.

"...Let me tell her. It's not right for just us or a cold-oiled politician to be deciding her fate. She needs to have a say in this too."

He bowed his helm in acceptance. That was only fair he conceded. His officer offered him a crisp nod, spun and left in that same hesitant, uncertain manner left over from his pacing. A split fraction of an astrosecond before his office door hissed shut, he heard Counterforce mutter in wrathful despair:

" _This isn't right_. _This_ _–_ "

The door shut.

"No," Aegis sighed. "No, it's not."

Reluctantly, he comm'd Evac and Hoist, requesting the evidence they'd thus far gathered.

* * *

Three solar cycles after the hushed conviction of Isohyet, Counterforce found himself digging through the spiritual section of Praxus's archives. In those three solar cycles he hadn't had the courage to check the local media or speak to Sen _–_ failures in the system like Isohyet's had to be mourned by those who had let it happen. He had been unable to sit idle. Work kept his thoughts off Isohyet. Three visits to Sweetspice had resulted in a lack of new information, for the dream-walker still refused to speak of the Ones Denied Entry. Fellow sensoriums either didn't know about them or, like Sweetspice, refused to speak of them, further warning him to "leave the shadows unlit." But he had a feeling that with them lay the answer.

Besides, his conscience argued, the only way to reveal what was hidden by shadow was to shine a light.

So, despite the warnings, he'd weaseled into the archives. A mini-bot archivist directed him to the right isles, up on the second floors where his race's beliefs and those of other species were suspended, aloft.

Row by row he panned through the datapads neatly filed into their birmabright shelves, each impeccably organized by date, author, and designation numeral. His pointer digits skimmed their thin spines. Numerous accounts of the Praxus slaughter _–_ nothing surprising there. Sensoriums: Real or Hoax? Origins of the Dream-Walkers. The Ven: Burial at Sea. Peaceful End: What Happened to the _Iatakora_ _?_ Returned to the Sands: the N'jez. Terran Burial Practices: From the Americas to the South Pacific. Funerary Practices Through the Ages _–_ that one might offer clues. He took it and held on it as he kept skimming. Ritual Murder of the Terrans (he shuddered at that one). Tomb Studies: from the Rust Age to Modernity. He grabbed that one, too. Syntax had mentioned archaeologists had found the mysterious horn glyph in certain tombs, so it certainly had something to do with death despite its indecipherable nature. Nothing on the kills dotting history _–_ expected. A few datapads written by Xanxorans spoke of the eternal conflict and the cycle. He grabbed one written by an older monk, Reliquary, titled Dark and Light: Cosmic Conflict in Daily Life.

Further skimming revealed nothing related to his search.

On an impulse, he snatched the datapad on sensoriums.

He left the shelves, wandering until he found a small table cloistered away near a hexagonal window that looked down on Praxus. Requesting permission from a nearby archivist through the input window on the screen, he began to download every iota contained within each digital volume. Piece by piece it fed in: some of it older than the War, some of it redundant, all of it fascinating.

"You are attracted to death, I see. Odd, for one barely budding into his life."

He looked up to locate that soft, quiet voice. An ordinary looking mech stood there on the other side of the table, a thin mesh of sheer textiles draped over his pauldrons to shield the semi-exposed spark within. A staff acted as a third, steadying leg. The slight hunch to his backstrut betrayed his age. Now this was strange, he thought. What was a Xanxoran doing away from the monastery?

Counterforce responded with a shrug to the comment. As a homicide investigator, he said, it was hard to not be involved with death. It was in the job title.

"Sorry, but who are you?" he asked.

Smiling, he leaned in and tapped the Xanxoran-authored datapad, his dual-toned gaze following. The Praxian jerked his helm back up, new appreciation dawning.

' _Someone is certainly being nice to me after that epic fail..._ ' he thought.

"I _–_ uh _–_ sorry. I-I didn't mean to come off as rude, sir."

The monk brushed it aside, taking a seat.

"Is there something in particular you seek?"

He sighed, "Truth be told, I'm looking into this to solve an old cold case. Cold case and a recent murder, and the murderer was innocent."

Reliquary's composed nod startled him. He waited for him to continue.

"What do you know of the Ones Denied Entry? Ghostwrite mentioned them before she was...terminated."

For once, the response he got wasn't one of superstitious fear. This time, the response was one of poignant sorrow.

"I cannot tell you much, I'm afraid. Even we know little about them, and that is not through wont of ignorance. Contact with them is dangerous. They are fear, and hate, and want, and sorrow, and everything wrong in our lives. Like parasites, they draw from those emotions. That is why our order takes vows of purity, and why they cannot do us harm. Predacons cheat this vow (forgive the phrase) through use of their shrines and amulets. All of my sisters and brothers in faith, be they beast or mech, are forbidden from contacting them by our creator _–_ it appears Ghostwrite, rest her spark, chose not to heed his warnings."

"What warnings?"

Reliquary zeroed in on him. There was something in his pale silver optics he couldn't decipher.

"They are Denied for a reason, child."

He pressed him, "What reason?"

But Reliquary refused to clarify, admitting he did not know why _–_ no one did. The one who did was beyond a simple police interrogation.

"But the _Æ'vit_? They're in contact with him, and Sweetspice obviously knows something about them, yet she won't speak. No one in the spiritual field will. Believe me, I've tried. You're the first one who's said _anything_ in edgewise about them."

Perhaps, Reliquary mused, that was because certain knowledge should not be shared. Knowledge could be dangerous to those unable to defend against it. He, his brothers and sisters _–_ all had the necessary defense, whether it be purity or bestowed blessings. His very association with what gave power to the Denied left him vulnerable. Until he had the defenses necessary to protect him, such knowledge would be barred _–_ not out of ill intent, but to keep him safe. The Denied did not tolerate snooping, something a law officer like him and a curious sensorium like Ghostwrite were coded to do. Why they had not bothered him yet he confessed he did not know.

"Yes, but _–_ "

The old monk rose in a creaking of joints. He reached across the table to plant a thumb on the beak-like extension of his helm, pointer and index digit resting further up. Physically the touch was calming, but internally he was seething at being once more denied answers.

"I beg you, child. Some shadows are better left alone. Drop this, before you delve too deep to be saved."

With more creaking and the heavy tap of the staff, Reliquary left him to his morbid studies.

* * *

 **So. Like? :D**


	18. One-Shot: D'xrv Lom

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

Part 16: _D'xrv Lom_

* _This will kinda be an exercise to "fix" some of the "problems" in Light Brooding. Much more emphasis on Sen's personal conflict with the Demon, especially now that Camber's in on the secret and Sen's trying to get a hold of her problem. Because...eh...well...you'll see. Another stand-alone one-shot._

 _*Edit: got rid of the uncomfortable edginess due to one of my best viewers getting uncomfortable. I have a basic rule: don't get the viewer uncomfortable. That edginess was an experiment; wanted to see how readers reacted. If one viewer doesn't like it then down it goes._

* * *

The fading afternoon sun was occupied giving its last dying roar into the open bow window, its warm light splaying, helpless, on a simple yet exquisitely forged desk of steel and sheathed in terne before the window, the polished, practical pewter top, slightly slanted, gleaming beneath its glare. The once dizzying abstract swirls that had adorned it on purchase were now ground down and faded, and visible only at just the right angle with just the right amount of lighting. Her supple form, darker than pitch, more exotic than a N'jez sand skiff, sat at the desk, her helm resting sideways on her arms as piercing yellow optics stared blankly at the light that would soon fade. Sweet liquid stained her dark silver faceplates. One metal digit idly kicked a stylus up and down the desk's mild incline, unfocused. A datapad, well-worn yet obviously cared for with tender hand, sat beside her folded left arm. The thin spine bore a laser-carved title of " _Tcsovan_." The screen, dim, was locked with an encryption only she knew.

Again the stylus was flicked. Up and down. Up and down, an incessant pattern that never hiccuped, never stumbled. Up and down. Up and down. The stylus had it easy, she mused. At least it didn't have to think about it, didn't have the anticipate the rise and fall. It just existed, went along with the pattern blindfolded. A stylus had no ethical code. Up and down. A stylus need not fear damnation for sin. Up and down. It didn't need to worry about repercussions. Up and down. It didn't need to worry about the future, about society condemning you, fearing you, revering you all at once.

To be a stylus, she concluded, would be a treat. Just doing your job, not caring about anyone or anything. When you broke, you got thrown away. There was no need to battle against a headwind. You let it push you, abuse you, beat you. You didn't care – you were just a stylus. So what if someone beat you to a pulp, shattered you, threw you away?

"I hope you frack up tonight," she hissed. "I hope you frack up and some goon puts a knife in my chassis. Or maybe someone will have the sense to shove me into a smelter. Maybe then I'd finally be warm."

Her hand snatched at the stylus. Anger made her vision run redder than the ruby-eyed monster inside, haze clouding her sight. She barely registered the snap! of the stylus splitting in two, crushed like talc inside her clenched fist. When her vision cleared, the stylus sat there in her open palm, shattered into two uneven pieces. Sighing, she opened a slender drawer on the desk's right hand side. Inside were other styluses, splintered in mirror of the one broken. Force of habit laid it to rest with the others. But the thing inside her hissed and squirmed in pleasure at the sight, coiling around her racing spark and slowing it. The crypt chill came creeping back. She welcomed it now: the not-feeling, the not-caring. Liquid, honey-sweet and chilled, trickled out from her optics, sliding down the desk to pool at the lip as the saffron light outside was obscured by dense ammonia clouds. A northern wind barged into the open window.

Numb, she didn't feel it.

She counted down the kliks and astroseconds as they slipped by. The light outside grew weaker and weaker like a Plague victim in their last throes, her vision blurring further. With each moment added, the short bar on her hip grew fatter with fear.

Make a move, _gt'elz_ , she dared. Go on. Let's get it over with. Her optics shuttered.

Hissing and spitting met with returned profanities, the scheduled war commenced.

* * *

 _Nothing._

 _This was always the field it preferred to fight in: a great expanse of inky emptiness that stretched to infinity and roiled with black, sour smoke thicker than the industrial smog of Kaon. She could not see the beast before her in the roiling pitch – it never showed itself, much preferring to stay hidden and strike from cover. But she felt it. A deep, endless cold that seeped in from everywhere. Massaging her radial plating did nothing to warm her. Forlorn, foolish hope was still hope – one of the few things she could cling to._

 _She rose, quaking at the all-consuming chill._

 _"C-come on and f-f-fight, you bloody c-coward!" she managed through chattering denta. Her hand went for the bar on her hip. Metal scraped on metal, the bar elongating. In a flash, a shimmering crimson blade snapped out, its glow shining onto the inky fog and clouds only for that faint shine to be devoured by the hungry emptiness._

 _The foul smog gathered up into a tenebrous wave that screamed and hissed, roaring towards her. Mechanically she swung the scythe up to split the oncoming tide. It never worked, it never had and it probably never would, but it felt more like a fight than simply standing there and letting the wave crush her like always. To even pretend to fight was more liberating than to stand there and take the beating, resigned to defeat like a poor, nameless grunt in the War whose only use was mere cannon fodder to protect his more important superiors. Blow after blow rained onto her._ _The cold, inky mass shoved and pushed and pummeled her further and further into the gelid murk. She swung and sliced, screamed and cursed, retaliating as best she could, but the mass kept pushing, kept shoving, kept pummeling. She could feel her energy being sapped away in chunks on each hit. A titanic blow sent her reeling back, and her trod slipped on an unseen precipice, her balance abandoning her. She stumbled over the edge, falling a wing's width before a hand lashed out to grab the roiling edge. Stubbornly she gripped onto her weapon with the other. Laden as it was with sin and fuel, she refused to let it fall, useless though it was against her attacker. Grunting, she hefted the scythe arm up, fist balled, and did her best to find traction._

 _"Come on!" she shrieked. "Do your worst!"_

 _The wave, like always, crushed her._

 _The voracious fog pressed the advantage. Tendrils shot forward, wrapping around her and constricting. She screamed as the cold came rushing in, still refusing to let go. Hissing, the inky mass pooled on the edge. From the ground up it began to take a more concrete shape. At first, she was intrigued – it had never done this before. But as it kept building, intrigue became horrified disgust. Slender trods formed, then lovely legs. Hips, the envy of many of her femme contacts and adored by some of the mechs, followed suit alongside a ravenous, exotic chassis. Curved-tip wings swept up and around like wide horns. A helm, swept and avian, a triangle of ebony bent forward to shield the empty, blank face. Grey protrusions mirroring flat, angled horns completed the black voids for optics._

 _Matching Predacon yellow optics gazed back, terrified, appalled, disgusted, and wrathful. A dark mirror loomed over her._

 _She was looking at herself._

* * *

Down in the lobby of the apartments, an older model femme, somewhat rotund in frame and with a slight hunch in her backstrut to betray her age, hummed an old War song off-key as she tidied up the tables, straightened the shelves of live-stream news datapads, and polished up the sconces on the walls. With it so cold and dark out, staying inside in warmth and working was as good a means of passing the time as any, she'd found. After all, on _Konemq_ , one never knew when one might get an unseen visitor, did one? She'd much rather they come in to a clean lobby than one in a disarray, and the lights she and a handful of tenants had helped put up would tell them drifters it was safe to loiter in her business. Brave little dears, to wander the streets of Kaon after dark, she mused. She just hoped they kept their ethereal mitts off the building's power core. She'd had _quite_ enough of _that_ over the last four cycles _,_ thank you!

Mid-note, she stopped on hearing a screech to wake the dead in Kalis's catacombs. A series of crashes followed it up, sounding like a maelstrom had been let into the building. Horribly disfigured that scream was, but a certain tonal frequency in it gave the identification. Spark quickening, she opened a line.

"Miss?" she demanded. "Miss, is everything alright?'

No answer came – well, no answer other than another oil-chilling, banshee's wail more disfigured than the last, forcing a wince out of her. She heard another crash (she thought it rather sounded like an end-table turning over, though it could have been anything) occur in the background. Then the line went dead, static filling her audials. The next scream she heard sounded muffled, like the screamer, no matter how much pain they were in, didn't want to disturb anyone unduly. That, too, fit the reports. Her new knowledge fit in nice and snug.

Camber tossed the cleaning rag and polish aside and broke into a run. Other tenants had reported hearing screams some nights over the groons, detecting them herself on a few occasions, but never did she remember them this piercing. Them shrieks was like hearing a Felioid caterwaul in anguish as its fangs, one by one, were ripped out. Tumbling into the lift, she pounded the panel for the third floor, uncaring of the crack it left. She hadn't the patience to wait for the doors to hiss open once she hit the floor – she forced them the rest of the way apart and barged out, huffing down the hall to the door labeled with a simple "33".

Primus, the miss was screaming still!

Not bothering to knock per the usual, she pulled out a magnetic key and, hand shaking, disabled the magnetic lock on the door. A crash beyond and the zing of swung energy made her jump back just as it began to hiss open. The sight within – to say that a maelstrom had swept through the miss's quarters were not a far-off description. Two end tables were knocked over, a lamp and an empty cube lying on the floor. A wire-backed chair lay on its side. The curtains, spun from Harahadrian arachnids so the miss had told her once, were shredded something dreadful, as were the pillows that adorned the sofa. The miss herself were doubled over on the floor, one hand holding her helm while the other gripped at her scythe, panting in a laborious, shaky manner. A high-pitched noise coming from somewhere in her throat warned another scream were on the way.

Her preservation coding kicked in. Stepping around the remains of the lamp, she drew up to the downed detective. She reached out a hand to steady her, but she quickly ducked when the scythe was swung.

"Back!" she screamed. "Get back!"

She did not obey. When the weapon was swung again, she snatched the pole section of it, wrenched it free, and flung it onto the chair where it would no longer do harm.

* * *

 _The mirror's blank faceplates roiled until a thin line of a mouth slanted into a frowning smirk, its void optics switching to red in a slow, meaningful transition. It lifted a trod and slammed into down onto her digits so gregariously gripping onto the cliff. She screamed in pain as two of them broke at the impact, blue leaking out and sparks snapping at the frayed wires hidden within. Stamps were replaced with monstrous, heavy grinding motions. Back and forth, back and forth the trod twisted. She screamed louder as the broken digits crumbled to stubs._ _One by one her digits were reduced to stubs until only one remained. The monster knelt onto one knee pike, smiling, and lifted the Seeker up almost gently. It held her there for a moment, dangling her over the abyss._

 _"Threaten and torture me all you want, glitch," she spat, "The moment I stop fighting you is the moment I die."_

 _The smile it gave was almost approving if the snowy sadism warping its features hadn't turned it murderous._

 _"Good."_

 _Its red gaze flashed violet. It let go of her, smiling to show its inner fangs._

 _Screaming, she tumbled into the yawning pit. She fell down, down, down into the pit below, stale wind that smelled of crude oil and rust whistling past her. She thought for a moment she was doomed to fall perpetually – the monster had tortured her like that before – but then came the frame-shattering, mind-numbing, agonizing-beyond-all-reality impact. Her cry of pain was frail, broken. She fought the encroaching black of defeat, struggling to rise. The clangor of metal rang like a foundry worker's hammer. One by one, slower and more agonizing than any 'Con torturer, bars of shadow rose like weeds. Grunting in pain, she dragged herself forward._

* * *

"Miss!"

She weren't looking good now. There were something in her manner now that rang of sickness, though she looked perfectly well to her truth be told. Reaching forward again, she jumped back when Sentenza shrieked at what she was fairly sure was a gentle tap, but some of the shock came from her mesh – it were colder than a vat of liquid nitrogen. The chill now were a chill that burned, feeling like acid had tried to eat away at her hand without the ensuing damage. For the third time she reached out and placed a hand on the detective's arm, refusing to flinch back at the stinging cold that nipped at her digits. The thermal blanket – that's what were needed. She needed some heat. And the lamp. That'd give her a fighting chance.

Rising, she quickly ambled over to a chair where the thermal blanket lay draped over its back like a cape. This she draped over the biting cold Seeker. The lamp, on guard beside the desk, she lifted it, carted it over, and situated it just beside her, so. A flip of the switch caused captured sunlight to stream down. Crouching, she took up a vigil before her.

"Miss..." she whispered. "Can ye hear me?"

A weak nod was her answer, so weak she almost didn't catch it. The sick air hanging around her felt like it faltered. Had that done the trick?

* * *

 _Light percolated in through the bars from above. Through the haze of pain she felt it seep into her broken form. Strength, there but feeble, began to build. Grimacing, she forced herself to her knee pikes, every move of her joints forcing her to bite back screams. Beyond the bars the crude oil fog thinned, burned back by the light. Out of the corner of her optic, a faint red glow grew brighter. Turning, she found her scythe laying there. The red was now no longer a red of fear, but of persistence. Crawling over, her hand clasped the pole and forced the tip into the ground, using it to push herself upright. High above was the cliff, and higher still was a thin slit of light that peeked through the darkness._

 _That glitch thought the fight was over, thought she'd won. Frack that._

 _Despite the howling protest of her aching frame, she transformed. Gunning her engine, she rocketed up towards the cliff. On reaching it, she swapped forms and landed, drawing her weapon and brandishing it. She could not see the Demon, only a vast expanse of darkness too thick for the light to penetrate._

 _"Round two, glitch!" she shrieked._

 _The shadows began to move, swarming and thickening until the mirror was again formed. It held a hand out until a matching scythe, the blade a deep indigo, was brandished in return, yet another new trick it had performed before now. Hissing, the mirror surged forward and swung, the weapon extending like rope. She dodged to the side, swinging her own weapon and slicing the Demon's weapon in two. But the weapon simply reformed from the crude oil fog in moments. Again it was swung, horizontally this time, and far faster. She held her weapon up to block, not expecting the sheer force behind the blow. She staggered back, only barely blocking another titanic blow. But she refused to fall. She zigzagged forward, feinting to one side, and swung her weapon at the Demon's arm, slicing the limb cleanly at the pauldron joint. Shrieking, the Demon staggered back, and her shriek only grew when she sidestepped into a thin column of light. Where the limb had been severed was now a red-gold burn, smoking._

 _"Don't like that," Sentenza growled triumphant, "do you, glitch?"_

 _The Demon hissed to reveal her fangs. The arm did not reform as an arm but a mass of shadows. Soon enough, the Demon let her body dissolve and join the mass of shadows surrounding her. She knew what as coming. Scythe held with blade pointing forward, she held her ground as the tidal wave crashed down a second time. She felt her trods pushed back, back, back, but she pushed back against it as well as she could through the pain. It wasn't enough. Little by little she felt herself pushed back further away, back towards the cliff._

 _"You are weak, Seeker..." said the shadows in an earthquake voice._

 _"Frack you!" she spat in return._

 _The ebony wave retreated a ways as another thin column of light came down between it._

 _"You are afraid of your duty," it said in a soft purr unlike its usual voice, "You are tired and weak. Rest, and let me do what you are too frightened to."_

 _It split around the obstruction as easily as water around a stone in a river. A tendril shot forward. She sliced the red blade through it and it withered. Another came forward to be sliced. The Demon, realizing such a tactic was too easily counteracted by her, sent a swarm of tendrils forward. She sliced them as they came at her_ _–_ _two, three at a time. She didn't want to admit the Demon was right. She was tired. She was weak. She couldn't keep this up forever. But she didn't need to say it. The Demon sensed it. A tendril swarm more profuse than the last charged at her, taking the shapes of serpents. She sliced, and cut, and swung. Five of them pierced her chassis as if she were insubstantial, a beast most vile ripping into her. She felt something yanked out violently. She stood, frozen in agony and shock, as a serpent head retreated with a twinkling star, a star that emitted only a faint, tainted light, clasped in its fanged maw, eminence purple and burgundy swirling together. The other serpents dissolved._

 _She fell to her knee pikes, optics wide. She couldn't feel anything and_ _–_ _and it was glorious. Wonderful! A few tears slipped out. Why? Why hadn't the monster done this before? Why suddenly start sparing her? She didn't care about her feelings, her sensibilities._

 _The monster read her mind, taking her mirror form to stand before her. She barely registered her presence. The not feeling_ _– had her one wish been granted at last?_

 _"I thought we had reached an agreement, Seeker," the cloud said. "A neutral zone. I am not your enemy despite what you may think."_

 _She looked at her. Yes, she murmured mechanically. Yes, she was right. The Demon was not her enemy. She had shown her that by removing the pain, by taking steps to show pity. Smiling in her serpentine way, the Demon knelt down. A flick of her wrist made the captive star in the black fog move forward. Still smiling that fanged smile, a smile that, for once, did not feel cruel to her but kind, she plucked the star out and held it out to her. Gentle she was with it, holding it between her thumb and middle digit. The star was beautiful too, red and violet swirling together in harmony. She reached out and the monster did not jerk her hand away, letting one finger of hers ghost over it. It emitted no heat, and its light was feeble, so terribly feeble for a spark, but it was soft_ _– so marvelously soft. And it sang, too_ _– a gentle, barely audible, seductive chorus. They were one, it sang. She was her, and her was she. Only a blink later did she realize it was not her spark singing, but the monster holding it, the monster busy smiling through her serpent's fangs._ _Her captive star began to pulse wildly, struggling against her digits. Even removed from her chassis, her link to it was too strong. Wrath burned through her. The star's feeble light grew, and grew, and grew, until it shone like a weak beacon._

 _Hissing, the Demon relinquished her grip on it, and it flew back to its owner. The Demon's digits now smoked._

 _She rose in a flash, grabbing her scythe. The Demon backed away, drawing her own dark mirror weapon again, raising it defensively. Good she snorted. She was scared. She realized she'd hit the wrong nerve bundle. Frack the armistice. By implying that, she'd woken the sleeping Panthron inside her. Better still, the monster was hurt. She had an advantage now, and the light._

 _"I'LL NEVER BE LIKE YOU!" she shrieked. "NEVER! I'LL DIE BEFORE I BECOME YOU!"_

 _She swung her scythe, the Demon's meeting hers mid-way. Red and violet clashed in a beige explosion._

 _The light burned stronger than ever. Inch by inch the fog was burned away._

* * *

The Miss were looking a mite better now. For a while there she'd been looking ill enough to die. Another check of her mesh temperature revealed that some warmth from the lamp and blanket had seeped in. So far, the heat and light seemed to have done her a good turn. She stayed by her nonetheless. She wasn't Counterforce, granted, but maybe having someone by her side during this...whatever was going on with her, could help. Light and heat were well and good, but support from a friend were another ingredient in this recipe.

"Come on, miss..." she murmured. "Ye can win this. I know ye can..."

She jolted. Counterforce. That was what she needed. She needed his voice _–_ his pleasant, gentle sunlight voice. Rising (after a quick apology) she waddled over to the desk and activated the holo-screen. Her encryption key, knowing what she now knew, were easy enough to guess. Numerous files appeared on the display, chaotically organized. Cases, financial records, dossiers. Where was his frequency, where was his frequency? Ah! She opened the Praxus file. Tucked inside were a file labeled simply "Nightlight." Straightforward, that were. Within was a short dossier, some shared case files _–_ one of which was locked with a different encryption key and labeled "Classified" _–_ a list of associates at the fifteenth precinct in Praxus and _–_

She hit the shortcut. The connection went through, and waited for confirmation from the the other end. Hopefully the handsome devil weren't bogged down with work.

* * *

 _Again and again her blade met the Demon's, pale gold erupting from each meeting before they jerked back like opposing magnetic poles. Wrath and heat burned through her, every cable and piece of tubing in her body feeling as if it had been set alight. She didn't even mind how painful it was. To feel was more intoxicating than a lack of feeling. She snarled. She pushed her back into another column of light. To hear that monster scream as it ate away at her smoking mesh was more pleasurable than anything she could've offered. The Demon, infuriated, lunged and struck her, her violet blade cleaving through her arm, but the limb did not fall. No, it struck something more personal inside. She screamed her hate, struck back._

 _The light dimmed._

 _The Demon's next blow sent her tumbling back. She rose, watched as the Demon once more forewent her mirror form for that of an ebony wave. She tried to block it. The wave only ended up crushing her as it always did. Once more she forced herself up._ _The Demon knocked her back down. Without mercy._

 _"I thought you didn't want to feel?" the shadows purred. "Was that not your wish before our battle?"_

 _"I was wrong," she snapped. "Not feeling is too convenient, too easy. I want to care. If I don't care, I become you."_

 _"Then I will spare you the night's mission."_

 _"Oh, spare me will you?" she spat. "How stupid do you think I am?! You don't know what mercy is!"_

 _At that, the shadows surged at her. She felt her arms twisted painfully behind her back by tendrils that felt like hands, felt something hit the back of her helm. The world fritzed. Familiar mirrored trods formed before her, and a faint reddish, violet light shone. Her helm lifted. The Demon was standing dominant over her, one hand clasping a mirrored scythe that came forward. She screamed as it cut into her chassis, screamed more as the star was once again wrenched out mercilessly. Its mouth was a perfectly straight horizontal line as it did so, but there was something in the monster's violet optics that, if not sympathy or pity, was as close as it could get to those tender emotions. What did the monster care though? To it, she was just a puppet whose strings it pulled whenever it wanted out to play. Why was it suddenly playing nice with her? It never had before._

 _Again it read her thoughts. She knew her, knew what she was thinking at any given moment. And that was the worst part. There was no hiding anything from her. Privacy was impossible._

 _"Because, for many nights now, you have made the attempt at an armistice," it said. "I am obligated to return the gesture. If you want the pain of your conscience removed then I will do so. But am I to take it that you wish this battle to end the typical way? In pain?"_

 _Her helm hung in defeat. But she smiled. She understood her suddenly playing nice now_ _–_ _the Demon could not feel love, or kindness, or pity, but it was now operating on a favor-for-a-favor system rather than destroying her will for dominance. It did not seem to take any pleasure in her defeat either, at least not any more. By extending her hand during those meditation sessions, the Demon was extending hers in return._

 _"I want to feel my loss. I want to know I'm losing. I want to feel the pain. So j_ _ust get it over with," she sighed. "Make it quick. But before you do," she added quickly, "can we...can we make an agreement?"_

 _"Such as?"_

 _"Stop fighting me during the day for one," she offered. "It's pointless. You'll never win then. Second, you only get to hunt during the d'xrv lom or during moonless nights or if we find out there's an extremely dangerous individual out. I'm tired of fighting you every single night. And I think you're tired of fighting me. That's why you've switched tactics. It's more efficient, isn't it? To not fight me?"_

 _She was afraid that low growl was one of displeasure. But the monster agreed, adding that it would like to hunt when one moon was out. Any other nights she was free to do as she pleased. She would not battle her on nights where the odds were stacked against her. As she said, it was inefficient. That energy could be stored for later or used elsewhere. With that Praxian and her armistice attempts, it was a waste of effort._

 _Relief flooded her. The fighting_ _– the fighting was over now. Mostly. A small part of her regretted it._

 _The Demon's red optics met hers as it lifted her chin up. Holding her captive star out_ _– a burnt-out indigo husk that emitted no light_ _– its digits clenched around it. With a sound like a dying planet, the dead star shattered, crushed into nothing but burnt-out embers. Her screams from before were feeble compared to the howl that escaped her, the impartial cold of the Demon's mind biting into her, her conscience backed into a corner and devoured. Like always, she never felt herself collapse to the ground._

* * *

Unwilling to sit by the screen until Counterforce answered, she retreated back to the Seeker's side. A touch of her arm made her hiss and flinch back. The cold were back, worse than ever, and the shivering were worse than she'd ever seen. Tears were streaming down her faceplates now, dripping onto the floor into puddles. Whimpers escaped her vocalizer. Her optics, too, once so bright and vibrant, were dull and darkening. Orange they were now, and they were only getting darker. She were loosing to that cursed she-demon, loosing something fierce. Primes! she prayed. Do something! Help her!

They must've heard her. Sentenza's pet Praxian answered at last. His handsome Raptorial helmet popped up.

"Camber? Sorry, I was _–_ " he paused mid-sentence, spotting the sight further within the room. "SEN!"

"She's losin' bad!" she warned. "She needs you, sir!"

"I-It's not like I can just walk through the screen!" he stammered. "I would if I could!"

As if in recognition of his voice, her tears flowed faster and her whimpering grew louder. But then, as her optics darkened to red, all of that stopped. Just like that. Like a switch had been flicked. The miss rose, the thermal blanket falling away. She did not need to touch her to know her mesh would be glacial, and when the miss ever so calmly looked at her through that crimson gaze, she knew. The she-demon were in control now. The miss had lost the fight.

* * *

He had never professed, unlike certain War vets, to know fear at the sight of a color. Now, he could confirm that he did feel fear at the sight of what artists called lust red, more so because of the lack of passion in that invasive hue. There was nothing in them. Nothing. Her optics, just the other cycle on par with the finest pale amber, were black holes dyed with the crushed corpses of rubies. Frightening didn't even come close to describing what he felt. All the life, all the fear, all the vulnerability, all the hope had been drained away. Even her posture and the way she moved had changed. Sen's posture and the way her armor sat on her frame betrayed a femme under constant pressure. The being that took a few steps towards a seat where Sen's scythe lay was far more confident, armor held more naturally. The hand that stretched forward to retrieve the scythe did not falter or shake.

"Sen...?" he murmured. "...Are you in there? Can you hear me?"

"Sentenza" turned to face him. There was something easily identifiable in the lust red voids of her optics now: regret. She did not answer him, instead turning her backstrut to him and heading for the door. Camber proved agile for someone as hefty as she was, darting to block her exit.

" _If ye think yer just waltzing outta here without my say-so, you've got another thing coming!_ " she declared. " _I know yer reputation!_ "

" _Then you would know it is unwise to impede me..._ "

He shivered at that voice _–_ that glacial, dispassionate voice flatter than a sheet of graphene. There was nothing in it.

Camber snorted. The miss, she protested, would never let her lay a finger on her. And for her information she was the reason she had a place to retreat to after kills. Threatening her weren't called for! She oughta be ashamed of herself! she scolded.

A tear split his spark. One half wanted to scream at Camber that a verbal duel with the Nightdemon was a terrible idea, to just get out of the way and save herself potentially ghastly injuries. The other half wanted to jump and cheer for her courage and salient point. Even the unleashed monster seemed impressed with her bravado. The tear mended when the Nightdemon examined Camber with an appraising glance and did _–_ nothing. She did not lash out. She just...stood there as time crawled by. Fear crept into him. Was she debating removing her by force? Was she planning on standing there indefinitely?

The fear mounted again when the scythe was lifted up a few degrees.

"Sen, please," he begged. "You don't have to do this. Let me help."

"Sentenza" glanced back at him with those same red pools of regret.

" _You can do nothing_ ," the monster told him. " _The mission must proceed._ "

"Then you give me no choice," he said. "Camber, shutter your optics. Completely."

The Nightdemon did not seem to understand the warning. He put both hands up to face the holo-screen, shuttering his own optics. Through the darkness he detected a brilliant, blinding flash as he released every photon in his body. He heard an oil-curdling scream that was not Sen's but that of a wounded animal. Opening his optics again he saw her staggering back as if shot, hissing and screaming. Unless his optics were playing tricks, it looked like her mesh was...smoking. That was different. Had his own flare managed to damage his optics somehow?

" _Counterforce_!" Sentenza screamed. " _Stop! Stop it!_ _You just pissed her off! We've reached a compromise_!"

He jolted back, "Compromise?"

If Sen was about to reply it was cut off by another howling scream. Aimlessly the scythe was flung in his direction. His screen became an ocean of static.

"Sen?!" he cried. "SEN?!"

No reply. He heard Camber grunt through the static, heard a door hiss open and close.

* * *

 _She was out. At last. Sweet freedom._

 _She stood for a moment on the walkway outside Her lair, taking a nice long intake of freezing night air. Refreshing. The lack of light made a smile bloom. She purred. Yes, Her abilities were always peaked during these five long nights lit only by lanterns and feeble starlight. Five long nights to relish the hunt, and to remind the dregs of society to fear Her again. Of late they had been growing more and more bold, more complacent in their safety. The sweet tang of ozone_ _– she could smell it already, brought on a piercing wind. Without the Seeker to fight back, these nights would be glorious._

 _She felt the Seeker squirm within, nervous._

 _Taking a perch atop the building, she retreated inside to the shadow realm. A touch of her wings calmed her, eliciting a purr from Her sleeping captive. She was not the enemy, She reminded. She would relinquish control back come the first rays of morning, per their new arrangement. For now, She murmured, she could sleep in peace. She would not harm ally, or child, or innocent. There were certain lines She refused to cross. She hunted dark. She did not hunt light._

 _The Seeker, purring at a final ghost touch on her wings, curled up. She tapped a single digit onto her forehelm, tracing it down her cheek. Good. The Seeker was under. An ebony blanket soon consumed her._

 _"Keep this up," she murmured through the haze, "and I might just start liking you."_

 _Smiling, the Demon left Her captive to a peaceful slumber. Yes, not fighting her was a more efficient means of gaining control. She had found it more enjoyable as well. She would endeavor to keep this strategy, modify it as time went by. Perhaps a different strategy further down the line would elicit better results. She would still fight Her, She knew that. That was a foregone conclusion. It was in the Seeker's nature. Gazing at a trio of sparklings racing by, Her smile contorted. That Praxian...She had sensed something when the Seeker had heard his voice, something She might manipulate for even less resistance._

 _Transforming, She wreathed herself in shadow and took to the darkened skies. What prey was on the menu tonight?_


	19. Chapter 15

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

Part 15: This Means War

 _This is a new case, non-serial. Might comprise a few chapters since it's a bit complicated. Oh. And we're back to dark and gritty. :P Hey, that's crime. It's never pretty._

 _*I don't know if Cybertron's star has a name, considering it can wander between stars apparently (at least according to G1) so I've taken to calling this star "Zewoel."_

* * *

The counter in front of her was blurred still. Groaning, the fresh, empty cube in front of her was filled halfway by a hand that didn't want to stay aloft. She couldn't help the limb falling, some of the precious liquid spilling onto the counter before the limb righted itself in a burst. She groaned again. Her helm thunked onto the counter. She wanted to get up and clean the spill before it dripped off onto the floor, but her processor was being an aft – a very, very persuasive aft. So her helm stayed on the counter. The nice counter. The friendly counter. Good counter, she murmured, stroking it. It was always there for her when she needed it.

Now if only she was online enough to stumble over and get a helmrest from the long seat...

But the counter was _so_ _nice_...

Groaning softly, she mustered just enough energy to lift her helm for a moment in order to shift her left arm underneath, then her right, each crossed over the other. Her optics began to shutter, pausing halfway. The sunlight from the window reached out over the counter to pause just before the half-filled cube off to her side. Her right arm unfolded to stretch out to meet it. A smile, faint and tired, formed on her lip-plates as its welcome heat seeped into her mesh. To see the light of Zewoel after its ten cycle game of peek-a-boo – the euphoria its reappearance brought was subdued only by the exhaustion ten long nights of hunts always brought to the table.

She'd survived _d'xrv lom._

Again.

And what was better, the exhaustion wasn't tainted. No nightmares of spilled blue and gurgled, choking screams, no coolant ducts dried after just a night or two. Just exhaustion. Wholesome, simple, lovable exhaustion, touched only by the faintest blip of lingering dread. For once, she wasn't afraid of falling back into power down. It was just...an _option_ now. The context of horror it had harbored for cycles unending was almost completely gone. So she gave in to it. Her optics shuttered. Funny, she thought, that a deal with a devil had gone so well. She'd actually kept Her promise.

Now to see if She continued to keep it.

* * *

"Miss?"

She rapped on the door. No answer.

"Miss?"

Again she rapped. On getting no answer for a second time, she let herself in. The very instant she made it past the small entryway she spotted the Seeker's gleaming pitch black form at the mini-bar, wings limp and cycling air nice and slow, her arms folded under her helm. Drawing in closer revealed a cube of medical grade, and a spill that told the hand pouring it hadn't been wanting to comply. She pulled out a tiny cleaning drone from her subspace and set it down to lap up the spill. For a moment she wondered why the sight looked different – finding her like this weren't strange at all – quickly shuttering her optics at the dark shine the sunlight gave her frame. She smiled. _That_ were the difference. The whole room was soaked in sunlight, every single window opened up to let it pour in.

Her hands went to her hips. Place looked heaps better all lit up and glowing.

A gleam in the corner of her optic made her glace away. Counterforce (bless that Praxian she thought) was sprawled out on the long seat, one leg dangling over the edge to rest a trod on the ground, one hand joining it, limp, the other was folded over his chassis. His faceplates were a blank, calm death mask, only the slightest hitch in his air cycling betraying his rest was not entirely peaceful.

At her side, the burly mech who had entered with her smiled wryly at the sight through optics that were far from cheerful.

 _*Get her up, would you? I'll see if I can wake the boy up._ *

 _*Is that necessary, sir?_ * she wondered. * _She's...had a rough deca-cycle. The miss needs time to recuperate, sir._ *

He gave her a look, * _This concerns her, Camber. Please._ *

She went over to the Seeker, collected the drone, and set to work trying to wake her. As she gently shook the femme's pauldron, she watched as he knelt by the long seat and put a hand on the mech's radial plating. His field flared three times in gentle surges that belied his hefty looks. Counterforce's frame jolted slightly. Moments later his optics un-shuttered, flickering in brightness as they calibrated. He shuttered them once, quickly.

"Chief?" he asked in a slur. "Wha – what are you doing here?"

The darker hued mech smirked, "Might wanna get those peepers calibrated better, lad."

Counterforce jumped.

The Seeker femme at the counter mumbled something incoherent. She turned away from the mechs and pressed her advantage, "Miss, please. There's someone here wants to talk to ye, like. Urgent."

Sentenza groaned and forced her helm off the counter, shuttering her optics once at the spot where the spill had been less than a breem ago. Her wings twitched. She jerked her helm, and the Seeker followed it. The moment she caught sight of the burly mech her wings hiked up to their limit, her optics widened, her armor tightened. Her hands jerked back to grip the counter backwards. She cocked a brow ridge at her, but she didn't seem to notice. Her sight was riveted on the second mech. The burly mech himself took notice and loosened his tight armor. Sentenza's did not lower. A flare of her field changed nothing. Her panic technically made sense after this past deca-cycle, but that mech were as oblivious as anyone about her "activities" after dark. Her reacting this way would only spark suspicion. She flared again and Sentenza's attitude began to shift.

"I apologize for arriving unannounced, detective," said Corpselight, "but I wasn't able to contact you directly."

She eyed Corpselight through flaring, narrowed optics, "Whaddaya need, dark-light? I'm off work for a few cycles."

"Strictly speaking, I need you at the precinct. Immediately. Time is of the essence."

Her optics shuttered quick, "What? Why?"

"Not even a three breems ago, my precinct got hit by some kind of virus. Every single kiosk got hit in my joint. A message was left on them all – a message we believe to be directed at you."

The femme shared a glance with her. Her wings flicked and frills flared.

"Then let's go."

"Get your kit, then, lass," he grunted. "Time's a-wastin'."

Sentenza, fully online now, darted into her quarters. She reappeared moments later, toolkit in hand.

"Let's go," she repeated.

"Mind joinin' us for this one, boy?" Corpselight wondered.

"Ah-I-I suppose," the Praxian managed in a stutter. "I-I mean, technically I'm on leave too, but if it concerns Sen..."

"I'll give you as a consultant's pay then. And you can get some _taoth_ at my joint."

"Thank you, sir."

The two mechs rose and left. Sentenza smiled in an abashed fashion. Before she followed them she grabbed the Seeker femme's arm. "Miss, what about –" she hissed.

Sentenza smiled and whispered back, "She's not a threat, Cam. Not for a while anyway. We have a deal, remember?"

The Seeker left.

She shook her helm.

The miss were making a terrible mistake in trusting that maniacal she-devil as much as she were now. But Counterforce were going to be there with her, she muttered. That had been enough to convince that she-devil to stick to Her word these past seven nights. And maybe this she-devil were the honest sort. Maybe She would stick to Her word regardless. That she-devil had done nothing to indicate otherwise. Yet.

On strolling into her quarters she found the ion lamp sitting on her desk, and Niv on her berth. She frowned, releasing hot air through her neck vents.

* * *

Being in a precinct, Kaonian or not, so soon after _d'xrv_ _lom_ – there was something twisted about it. No matter how blissfully naive everyone else happened to be, helping solve crimes after committing them would never feel right. She could wait three cycles, she could wait ten, but that morbid awkwardness lingered. It was a sick joke, this. Another to add to her list. At the very least, she supposed, it wasn't a Praxian precinct she'd been called into. Being in Aegis's precinct the morning after a kill and then Carbine's had been awkward at the very best, and a malicious, ill-timed punchline at the worst. The seventh of Kaon, thank the Fallen, was the kind of precinct that didn't give two slags about her checkered activities and tendency to bend the law to her needs. So long as the job got done, as Corpselight always reassured her, they'd handle any legal technicalities.

The burly black tank-former gestured Counterforce down the hall before gesturing her to follow into the main work area. Kiosks were strewn about with no real pattern, some better kept than others, but there was no evidence physically of them being infected by a virus. All of them, however, were inactive from what she could see. She knew better than to wirelessly connect. He stopped her at a kiosk closest to where they had entered – a simple, practical piece of machinery made of sturdy metal with a bright red holographic input panel. The glyphs on the right side of its holo-display indicated it belonged to Hubcap. Like all the others, the machine was off. Corpselight had taken all the standard precautions it seemed. Good. The virus wouldn't be able to spread if it wasn't active and no one was connecting to it wirelessly. At a nod from Corpselight she reached over and pressed a digit against the wide panel on left side. The display crackled and fritzed wildly as its firewalls tried and failed to expunge the foreign coding inside. Without warning a terrible high-frequency noise came from the machine's sound systems. Grimacing through the pain, she quickly adjusted her audials through a few strings of coding. Corpselight was quick to follow suit. But as quickly as it had begun, the noise ended.

She tossed a sour glare at the burly mech beside her, "You could've warned me about that, y'know."

"That didn't happen when this first started," he grunted back. "Virus must've been updated. Or the machine glitched."

"Ya think?"

In setting her audials back to normal, she heard quick pedefalls. She looked up in time to see Counterforce jog into the room, a small cube of _taoth_ in hand. He took up a position beside her, opposite the chief. The screen continued to fritz for another quarter breem, but the display refused to stabilize. Glaring across the still glitching screen, enlarged and emboldened, was a message in Kaonian.

" _If war is what you want, detective, then war is what you will get._

 _We're ready._

 _Are you?_ "

"Charming," she deadpanned.

Counterforce tapped the kiosk's frame, "Looks like the virus was designed to leave the kiosk completely inoperable. This was no ordinary hack, chief. This was a cyber-assault on your precinct."

"Tell me somethin' I don't know," grunted the burly black mech. "My entire joint's crippled thanks to this. Only the datapads and my boys were unaffected."

"Is this localized?" she wondered. "Was it just your precinct?"

Corpselight didn't answer. One hand went up to ask for silence while the other went up to touch an audial. His thick armor tightened against him as his field flared out like a napalm dropped onto an oil spill, and his armor soon followed. His lip-plates, previously drooping at the corners, abruptly morphed into a snarl. His powerful engine rumbled loud enough for her to feel the air vibrate. He swore creatively, slamming a fist into the broken kiosk hard enough to break its casing. Wires sparked and protested inside.

Her own lip-plates curled down alongside her wings. Of course it wasn't isolated. That would be too easy.

"Fourth, fifth, seventh, tenth, and thirteenth were all hit too," he reported. "They're all flyin' blind, same as us."

"Coordinated, then," her Praxian murmured. "Someone planned this in advance. Multiple precincts hit means multiple individuals. Each precinct has unique encryption."

" _Kjeziv'qa_?" wondered the burly black mech.

"No," she shot back, " _Kjeziv'qa_ hacktivists at least have good intentions when they hack. They _don't_ declare war on people and take down precincts. This has Thunderhoof written all over it. Only problem is that Thunderhoof and his thugs aren't exactly known for hacking. Altering records in precinct databases isn't the same as bringing that precinct to its knee pikes through coordinated digital attacks."

"Our encryptions ain't sparklings' play, either," the chief agreed.

Counterforce stole a glance with the chief, then did an unexpected double take.

She arched a brow ridge, "Got something to say, Goldie?"

He turned to stare her in the optics. She had a bad feeling of what was about to come out of that vocalizer of his.

"...What if this was an inside job?"

"Are you out of your fraggin' mind, boy?" roared the other mech. He jabbed a digit into the smaller mech's chassis as he continued, "If _anyone_ here's workin' for that rust bucket, _I'd_ know!"

Her Praxian, now a few steps back from the larger mech thanks to the jabbing attacks, quickly lowered his doorwings, put his palms together and lowered his helm as his field sent out glyphs. ~ _offense_ ~ ~ _accident_ ~ Corpselight snorted through his vents once in threat before settling down. Counterforce's helm rose back up, and his field emptied, but his doors remained down. The chief grunted approval.

"Inside job or not, some 'bots went to a lot of trouble to plan this. We need to act before other precincts are hit."

She snorted through her neck vents. Seven cycles with her hadn't made him any more aware of the rampant corruption in her city. The chief, accurate as always when it came to reading a situation, got the message straight away, spitting an oath so profane that the poor innocent Praxian across from him did a double take. She was surprised his audials didn't wither like dying crypt lilies. Her audials registered explosions and shouts from beyond the building.

"Hostile takeover," he spat. "So that's the game."

"The civilians!" exclaimed Counterforce. "They'll be caught in the middle of this!"

"They already are," grunted the chief. "I sent out my boys as couriers, now they're sayin' it's war outside the other affected precincts."

"We need to fortify this place!"

"I would if my secur –"

Chinks of metal on metal forced her attention away from the two mechs and down to the floor. Counterforce shouted incoherently and threw himself into her, but it didn't matter in the end. An explosion of blinding light wracked the work area. Screaming, her hands went for her optics.

Flashbangs.

"Go, go, go!" a femme voice print shouted. "Hit them while their sensors are scrambled!"

She drew the bar from her hip and swung wildly. It struck something hard and metal, and a cry of pain followed. Something struck the bar on another swing, sending it flying from her grasp. Her fists balled, and again she swung. Something, a hand, caught the blow. Just from the hand alone she judged it was a large frame model similar to the chief's. Mid-swing, another giant hand returned the strike.

The precinct vanished.

* * *

 _Dark._

 _In an alley._

 _A Reptoid, throat cut open and leaking blue, lay at her trods. Metal clanged and trembled behind her. She turned. An Arthropoid, violet and red and reeking of fear, was in the alley with her._

 _"Thank you! Thank you, Night Lady!" the strange mech said emphatically, practically kneeling, "I-I'll repay your kindness one day, I-I promise! You ever need help finding someone, come find me! Come find Clampdown! I-I'll help you find whoever you need! I swear!"_

* * *

She jolted back online to the sound of blaster fire dimmed by a persistent ring in her audial receptors. The precinct was back, more or less. Her vision fritzed. Alerts for a heavy blow on the _ar'eth_ sector of her helm and minor damage to her optics' visual range displays bombarded her processor. Through the fritz she caught sight of a dulled gold form kneeling behind Hubcap's kiosk beside her, one hand gripping a scimitar of golden light – and the look on her Praxian's faceplates said he would've much preferred a ranged weapon over it. She pushed herself up onto her knee pikes. A flash of black and a turn of the helm revealed a dark ink form busy firing from his artillery gun from behind another kiosk. The aim of the blasts indicated they were coming from the direction of the east entrance. That must've been how they'd gotten in.

"–ust've taken out security, too!" she heard Counterforce shout as the ringing subsided. He flinched when a blaster shot struck the edge of the kiosk.

"Ya don't say!" deadpanned the great black tank across from him.

His main gun creaked down a few degrees as its barrel dimmed. "Taste fury, ya rust-eaten oil-leakers!" _CRA-BANG!_

A voice cried out at the strike while other voices shouted in panic. The attackers – she tallied seven unique voice prints, only one instantly recognizable – shouted in panic as another heavy shell wracked the main work area. But the ceasefire didn't last for more than an astrosecond. The artillery shot was returned by more blaster fire. Empty air met her hand when it went for her hip. Snarling, she altered her audials to a unique frequency as she looked wildly around for the bar. Counterforce's field flared once. ~ _item_ ~ ~ _discovery_ ~ The bar was relinquished. He nodded once, his single silver _tv're_ flashing. She flicked her wings in return. She leaned towards the edge of the kiosk's frame. A blaster round shot past her, forcing her back into cover.

' _What I'd give for one of Buck's Path Blasters right about now!_ '

She curled into a sprinter's crouch and called up her visor. Six spark signatures popped up behind the kiosk. Six targets. All armed.

The bar snapped to full length.

* _Careful with your rounds, chief._ *

* _Kte'sol,_ _u_ _t'zken r'torvik vanteox._ *

At that, she activated her cloak and dashed out of cover to the right. The closest target, a mech, and a convoy vehicle from the looks of him, was the one to have struck her down judging by the sheer size of his hands. Another, smaller mech, some kind of hover-car, was right next to him. Worse, the big one was armed with a heavy weapon that looked like the twisted love child of a shotgun and a mortar launcher. Being right between the two thugs, spiteful mischief spurted in her spark. She let the bar slip till she was holding it at its lowest point and tapped the opposite end against his radial plating. He jolted and swung his weapon in her direction just as he fired another shot, the blast striking an ally with such force it sent the smaller mini-bot mech flying.

Confusion and ire erupted in the ranks. Insults were hurled. The heavy's backstrut turned to protest to his leader, a powerfully built femme with narrow faceplates, cloven trods, and down-curled horns.

She took her chance.

She swung.

The heavy staggered away, falling.

"Scrap! Scrap! She's online!"

"Shoot! _Shoot!_ " roared the horned femme in charge.

As the thugs and their commander began to fire wildly in all directions, she ducked and darted behind the one stationed on the far left. His trods were swept out from under him, blaster lost from his grip, and before he could recover her trod met his faceplates. Fire rained in her direction as panic one again gripped the attackers.

"Don't let her scare you!" the head femme berated. "She's nothing but a cheap coward!"

In tandem she bit her lip-plates and shut off her vocalizer to prevent some choice descriptions of her own from escaping.

Ducking below a third grounder mech's weapon, she swung the pole downwards to crack against it, sending the weapon flying, then rammed the pole against his helm. Again she darted away and behind the fourth attacker. Of the set, he was the most lightly armored. She cracked the pole against his arm, and when he spun to face behind him she barred the pole across his neck cables. She pulled him back, and back, and back, and then flung him over her shoulder to the ground near the kiosk Counterforce was hunkered behind. He took tare of him, bashing the hilt of his blade into the mech and before grabbing and cuffing him. Infuriated, the lead femme growled "Give me that!" and grabbed her last remaining subordinate's weapons, an assault rifle, spinning to face the way she'd come in, optics narrow and twitching around wildly as she hunted for something, anything, to shoot. Hitting a control on the side of it, the gun began making odd noises the moment its barrel stopped glowing. A laser guide danced around with the weapon's muzzle.

The sight swept over her.

The horned femme opened fire.

In diving out of the way, one round clipped her wing. But no pain erupted. Her sensors detected instead a substance clinging to her wing tip. Paint?

"No more hiding for you, glitch!"

She dropped the cloak barely a few paces from the other femme.

Trods approached from behind.

"Not another step, Praxian!" the other thug warned.

Counterforce's trod halted mid-step. He kindly reminded the thug he had no weapon to shoot him with.

The horned femme's assault rifle switched its ammo back to normal, "Time for some payback, _detective_!"

She smiled, "Agreed."

A flash without the bang went off behind her, temporarily turning the precinct and her sight a pale, brilliant gold-white. The screams of pain that followed were music to her audials. So too was the sound of Corpselight thundering over and finishing the job with two solid strikes of his fists. An astrosecond went by but the whiteout of vision didn't fade. Her hands went to her faceplates. She couldn't see them. Two more astroseconds ticked by. The whiteness began to fade out to full color. By the time four astroseconds had passed, the world was in full color again. A flash-bang without the bang – handy. Now if only it would affect _just_ the enemy.

"Deadbolt! Killswitch! Hotwire!" he roared. "Get our systems back online or so help me I'll throw the lot o' ye to the Savangebots!"

"Who were they?" wondered her Praxian.

Her hands went to her hips, "You have _so_ not been paying attention, have you?" she deadpanned, flicking her wings in a roll of her optics.

His mantle plating flared. "I'm sorry," he said in a curt, low simmer of a voice as a pair of cuffs snapped tight around the wrists of a thug mech, "but multiple precincts getting hacked and attacked by professionally armed triggermechs is new to me."

As he wings canted down, her lip-plates curled into a faint sneer. Typical Praxian, she huffed. Too focused on subtleties to notice what went on right under his nasal. Disdain and annoyance forced a snort. But, in the end, the disdain faded in astroseconds. Her tightly held wings relaxed. That sort of thing wasn't his fault, not consciously. On the bright side, he'd have his horizons broadened by this experience.

She stepped up to the horned femme, knelt, and clamped cuffs over her wrists. Her wings hiked quickly.

Counterforce appeared at her side, "Who is she?"

"Baphomette," she said. "One of 'Hoof's more dangerous lieutenants. Former merc."

His brow ridges furrowed into a valley. ~ _revelation_ ~ That explained the competence in a battle situation, he muttered, not the cyber-attack. Baphomette and her lackies were foot soldiers sent in after defenses were down. He glanced furtively back at the burly black bruiser before quickly leaning in close to her. The cyber-attack was another individual's or team's doing – one that by default required an insider. No matter how the chief felt about it, he muttered to her, there was no getting around it. System codes for precincts didn't lie around like so many _taoth_ cubes did during a busy deca-cycle. Someone, probably multiple individuals, in the legal system wasn't clean, and they'd sold out the good sorts to keep them from being a nuisance during the attacks.

She twitched her wings ~ _agreement_ ~ but that didn't narrow down who it was. Kaon's impurities went beyond the smoke and fumes of the foundry district, and the foundry district was a clean dirty.

Again her audials registered explosions and shouts from beyond the building, louder. Closer. Thunderhoof didn't joke, she'd give him that much. He really was going to war with the cops. Sabotage had done nothing but delay this outcome. But hopefully she'd botched enough deals to turn the tide.

"Get this place locked down and give me lines to your officers!" she barked.

The chief sent her a slew of personal frequencies.

"Precinct relays are down," he told her, "so personal comm's are the only way. I wouldn't trust the Trigon relays for common channels, either. No way to know yet if it's been compromised too."

Barking an order to guard the armory, she swept towards the _vleknr'xtan_.

* * *

" _Kuantyn foan ri'lanjunv_."

The chief snorted at him, "Welcome to Kaon, lad. Zero to sixty in five kliks."

The scream of Sentenza's engine and the muffled bang of a grenade drove the statement home. She hadn't flown out into Kaon – she'd flown out into a war zone. How in the world had Kaon gone from, well, Kaon, into a war zone – practically overnight? Kaon had its problems, everyone who lived there knew it, but this wasn't a problem. This was a crisis.

"What about civilians? T-The Elite Guard?"

"No way to keep up to date with the other precincts or the Guard, not with our relays down," grunted the burly black mech in a sour tone, "but I got most of my officers out in the field when that message cropped up. Inter-personal comm's still work, thank Solus. Proves they didn't get their mitts on the orbital comm. buoys. Small blessing. Guards are out in force too from they're tellin' me." He jerked his helm towards the fallen. "We need to get these rust buckets in cells. I'll handle the live ones. Get the one that didn't make it to Tumulus."

He obeyed, gently hefting the mangled mini-bot into his arms while the chief slung two cuffed crooks over his wide pauldrons.

"Morgue's at the end of the hall, to the left, and down a ways," he grunted as he passed. "I'll meet you at the armory once these _thorzkan_ are locked up tight."

"Does that matter at this point?" he wondered incredulously. "They're already armed to a ridiculous extent."

Corpselight glanced back at him in a flash of crimson _tv're_ , "Exactly why they don't need _more_ toys."

Frowning, he flicked his doorwings and headed down the hall he'd indicated, making a left at the end and continuing. There were no other sounds within the building that indicated more intruders, but the shouts and explosions coming in feebly from the streets beyond did little to ease his already frayed neurodes. The fight had to be near to make it through the building's thick, acid-proof walls. He needed to be out there, his spark cried, fighting off the aggressors. In a quick sway of his helm, he endeavored to ignore the muffled din as he approached an inconspicuous door. Beside it, a panel sat, dark. When the door did hiss open at his presence he kicked its base twice, hoping it sounded as much like a knock as he meant it to. From inside, a voice coarse as wire-grass yet smooth from proper use, demanded in a tone ripe with suspicion who was there.

"Counterforce of Praxus, sir," he said. "I assume I'm speaking to Tumulus? Your chief dragged me in last klik as an aid. Can I come in please? I, um – how do I say this – I have a body for you...?"

The door hissed open. Some systems, basic ones, still had to be working then, or else had been reactivated. One good sign in this mess he supposed. A stark black and white grounder mech, stout in frame met him on the threshold. Arms adorned in bright, glowing red medical marks that lit up his black radial plating extended to take his burden. The mech gestured him in through a snap of his pauldrons.

"Sorry about the lock-up," Tumulus confessed as he laid the body out on a extended, hovering slab that came from the wall on command, "but you can't be too careful in a situation like this. No one's hurt I'm guessing – other than this piece of work here?"

"Minor injuries on our side, but nothing nanites and medical grade won't fix."

' _And I'm assuming you won't treat the attackers if I said they were hurt, too..._ ' he thought sourly.

Tumulus rolled his optics with a snort, "We're gonna need more than that by the time this is over. Clinics are gonna get real busy. And if our friend here is any indication, so are morgues."

He slid body and slab into a recess, joining the two dozen recesses that surrounded it. Tumulus flared his mantle and femoral plating. He bowed and ducked out. That was one good thing about this, he supposed, as the door hissed shut and seal behind him: being blunt and obvious was a uniquely Kaonian trait. If subtle had been the goal in this attack, Thunderhoof wouldn't have bothered to send out a warning. He _wanted_ this to be out in the open. He'd arranged for it. By forcing an open-air confrontation, he was in the process forcing Sentenza's hand. Clever strategy in hindsight – forcing a cloaker to fight in the open by swarming the city with hostiles, as was arming his forces with special tagger weapons to keep her in sight even when cloaked. The fight here had proven that one tag on her body was all that was needed. Dangerously well thought out, all this. No way this all planned on a whim.

[Where are you, lad? Hurry it up!]

He broke into a run, following the coordinates provided .Corpselight met him outside of a great vault-like door. Eight heavy bars, the likes of which wouldn't be out of place on a bunker blast-vault door from the War, were folded up against the walls, as were two panels, one on each side. The door clanked open the moment the chief took one step towards it. Behind the great door was a veritable stockpile of weapons – pistols, rifles, shotguns, mortars for tank barrels, blades, grenades.

He balked, "Now I really know I'm in a war zone..."

"In," he grunted.

Confusion sparked furrowed brow ridges, "I thought we were locking it down?"

"Not till we get you something other than that little fire-poker you call a sword."

"Sir, all due respect, I'm trained in close combat, not firearms. And if we bring one of those weapons out, we run the risk of them falling to the enemy."

The chief granted him that.

"At least take some of the grenades. Those can't be re-used."

He yielded to the request, taking four from their container and exiting.

"Why do you need me to help lock this down though?" he asked. "Can't you do that yourself?"

"Two panels, boy," Corpselight grunted.

He leaned in to inspect the panel on his side of the vault door. Iron Vault panels, from the War. Only way to have them work was touch and, through that touch, an analysis of spark signal. Intruders might be able to fake or acquire one or the other, but getting both was next to impossible. He cast a quick glance at the mech opposite him, careful not to move his helm. The chief wasn't cutting corners when it came to security, and it meant he wasn't as trusting of his precinct as he'd made it sound earlier. He noted the discrepancy for later. At a nod from Corpselight, he put a hand on the panel, jolting in surprise when the panel flashed blue in recognition.

"Granted you temporary officer status," he grunted over the ringing of the bars. "Wouldn't have worked otherwise."

"Why?"

"Simple. You're not from here, so getting your spark signal and unique physical touch is gonna prevent a sneak from gaining access. Your precincts aren't so prone to corruption as ours are, making it harder still. And if Sentenza trusts you enough to let her into her rooms _and_ let her guard down, that's good enough for me."

"I-I-uh, t-thank you. I think."

"Now that that's settled we can get to work. Question is: where do we slagging start? A hacker doesn't even need to be in the city."

"No," he argued. "I think Sen has that question handled. The important questions are whether or not this is confined to Kaon –"

The chief balked, "Primes..."

"– and why Sen's network of insiders didn't alert her about this beforehand."

* * *

They should've warned her. They were _supposed_ to have warned her.

They hadn't.

Now, chaos in the streets.

Explosions.

Shouts.

Blaster fire.

Civilians running for cover and barricading themselves inside home and business as war engulfed the streets.

And she was forced to stay high in the sky to avoid being shot down.

Why hadn't they warned her? Gotten word?

It was a general rule with her insiders to keep communication extremely indirect or, if direct, extremely infrequent and as anonymous as possible. Getting insiders into Thunderhoof's ranks wasn't difficult. All insider cops had to do was accept a bribe and they were basically in the same berth as the crime lord. Civilians required more planning to insert, owing to questions of loyalty arising, but the insider cops were helpful in speeding that process along. Being unaffiliated with the cops came with perks. Numbers for both types always hovered between four an six per city – a necessity to keep suspicion down. She should've guessed continuous sabotage of operations was enough to get the most confident of 'bots paranoid, forcing further restrictions of communication. Silence in a situation like that was normal.

But total radio silence before a massive, and apparently city-wide, strike?

That was a question for later. Right now, she needed to pay a certain Scuttler a visit.

She dropped down from cruising altitude onto the roof of an inconspicuous building in the North Quadrant. Compared to the other sectors, it was suffering the least due to its relative legal "purity," but it was still under siege to a troubling extent.

An explosion wracked a nearby street. Blaster fire retaliated.

' _Chronometer's ticking, Seeker._ '

* * *

 **Author's Note: Slightly shorter since this is a multi parter situation.**

 ** _"Kuantyn foan ri'lanjunv._ " is a Praxian phrase and roughly translates to "Now is the hour of madness."  
**

 ** _"Kte'sol,_ _u_ _t'zken r'torvik vanteox."_ is a Kaonian phrase and translates roughly to "Femme, show them the fury of the beasts," or, more simply, "Give 'em Hell, girl."  
**


	20. Chapter 16

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

Part 16: This Means War Part Two

* * *

He'd expected thugs to be swarming the Trigon. The hulking public facility was the place where every public communication – police and Guard chatter, emergency signals, warnings or notices – passed through before being sent along to the recipient. Something that important to an invasion force would be a top priority to protect from the ones who needed it back in order to effectively retaliate. But that hadn't been the case. Other than a few armed attackers scattered throughout its corridors and chambers (who had been swiftly dealt with) the building was virtually empty. _Getting_ to the Trigon had been more a challenge. Once inside, it had been a simple matter of clearing out the rabble scattered inside. Having Counterforce during the assault had proven almost laughably useful. That flash-bang ability of his was quite the handy little tactical trick.

"This is a public facility," the young Praxian at his side noted as he helped the bedraggled Half-Flash to his trods. "Shouldn't this have been better protected by Thunderhoof?"

He snorted, "He doesn't view us cops as a genuine problem. Hasn't for a long time. Thinks weren't not dangerous enough to send the elites after us. Sentenza's his real target. He made that pretty clear in his threat this morning."

The Praxian balked, "I want to say she can handle this, but she's never had to deal with something like this before. The odds against her – they're _insane._ "

"Then you needn't be worried about her, lad. Insanity is something she deals with every other deca-cycle in this town."

Counterforce gave him a funny look. His mouth opened, then closed.

One brow ridge perked up, "Something you want to say, lad?"

The Praxian averted his gaze and changed the subject abruptly, "I'll, um, check the common frequencies to see if there are trouble spots that need help."

He left into the adjacent chamber. He could tell there was something between the two, he'd picked up on it in the detective's apartment suite, but it wasn't like a Praxian to become dodgy on a whim like that. Curious, he followed him into the chamber.

"Lad," he grunted.

Counterforce jerked his helm in his direction, "Sir?"

"Did I say something to bother you?"

Again his mouth opened but no sound came out. He looked like he was fighting the urge to talk.

"Yes, sir. But I'm sorry, sir. I can't talk about it. I'm under oath."

He smiled wryly at the answer, "Fair enough, lad. I won't pry – so long as you can promise this secret won't pose a danger to the good folk of Kaon."

Counterforce's unusual optics locked onto him then. There was honesty in the beaming gold one, but it's silver twin bore hesitancy in its depths.

"The secret won't pose a danger to them, sir, I promise," he answered slowly. "I can't promise that for the less scrupulous though."

He analyzed that peculiar expression of his for a while in silence. Despite the hesitance he had seen in him, his serious voice sounded entirely truthful. The Praxian had proven his reliability throughout this ordeal; giving him the benefit of the doubt about that secret was only fair he decided.

"'elp's needed in the South Quadrant, chief," Hghbeam interrupted.

Counterforce was quick to offer himself for the task.

Benefit of the doubt indeed, he thought, as Counterforce headed out. If only there were a dozen more of him to go around.

* * *

The sounds out in the street – the screams, the explosions, the shouts, the blaster fire. His top floor residence did muffle most of the noise, but hardly all of it. Every loud noise made him jump and whimper. So when he heard a loud banging rap on the door out to the hall – angry, he thought, and impatient – he nearly jumped out of his plating. He scuttled away in fear, ducking behind his desk, only letting his optical stalks peer over the lip. The banging rap sounded again, joined by a muffled explosion coming, it sounded like, from the just down the street. And then the door burst open of its own accord. No one stood over the threshold, and he heard no trods meet the floor. He lowered his optical stalks down in fright.

"Clampdown," came the voice of a femme utterly devoid of life.

That voice. _Her_ voice. The voice of the dreaded Night Lady, the cold-blooded Blood Maiden, came from Her unseen form – if indeed She even had one. The Xanxorans did say that only those with virtue could see the departed. Hearing that voice, that cold, cold dispassionate voice, that night came back all over again. That night haunted him still, survivor of it though he had been. Being backed into an alley for his "indiscretion" by one of the most ruthless Enforcer's Kaon had known for some time had been a scenario out of his worst nightmares, but the sight that had come just before the Reptoid's strike haunted him still. The neck split by an unseen blade as the neck and helm were jerked back and twisted at an unnatural angle, the Reptoid trying to scream but only able to manage a choked gurgle. The Night Lady had said nothing then, but he knew it was Her voice he heard now. He had been grateful for the Night Lady's intervention, but to see Her particular brand of "justice" up close still left him with a sick feeling in his tanks.

He was happy he couldn't see Her, happy at his lack of virtue. He was terrified of what he might see should the veil ever be lifted _._ Perhaps She really was one of the _dvnem'vtzo_ like most of Kaon thought.

"Clampdown," repeated she.

He dared to peek one optical stalk out from cover, "Y-yes?" he stammered.

"You once promised me that should I ever desire to find a target," the Night Lady said, "that I should come to you. You, as a Council informant, are privy to certain sensitive information."

"Y-yes, yes," he agreed. "I-I am. Wh-what is it you need to know?"

Her voice grew closer to him, "Do you know who is responsible for the cyber-attack against Kaon's precincts?"

"It wasn't supposed to be like this!" he cried. "H-He wanted detective Sentenza and some of her chums, see, a-and to do that he had to draw her out by going after those precincts! They work for her! She and 'the Network' have been disrupting his operations for too long now's what I heard, a-and he finally decided to get them back! But I had no idea it would be this large scale, I swear, I swear! He never said it would be all out war! You gotta believe me!"

He heard a growl then, a snarling growl like from a Panthron, more beast than femme. A hand, frozen through exposure to the grave-chill, grabbed hold of an optical stalk and pulled him out of cover. He didn't resist the urge to scream and blubber like a sparkling as she threw him to the ground. Down came an invisible trod onto his backstrut – a Seeker's trod he thought it was; he felt the thruster that comprised her heel. The air in front of him sizzled suddenly at an unseen energy. He was done for, now. The Night Lady and her blade did not know mercy, but he begged for it anyway in a pathetic wail. She demanded the identity of the attacks' perpetrator through a vicious snarl.

"Thunderhoof!" he wailed. "It's Thunderhoof! B-but he ain't workin' alone!"

At that he felt her grip tighten, "I know he is not," the Night Lady hissed. "Thunderhoof is too oafish to hack, nor does he have a hold on the precincts that were struck. You will be another victim of mine if you do not tell me something useful!"

Terrified, he yielded information to her: names, motives, histories, abilities, all coming out in a panicked, blubbering, shrieking torrent. He did not care that he would be punished for indiscretion and betrayal. Thunderhoof was the least of his worries when a true killer had him pinned, and an Enforcer was nothing compared to the quick, painful, grisly death She provided. He did not expect the Night Lady's grip to slacken as the last of it escaped into the air, but slacken it did. Her trod lifted from his backstrut and the sizzle in the air in front of him was removed. His whimpering stopped. His optics, before then shuttered, opened up.

"Your cooperation is appreciated," the Night Lady said.

"Y-You're not gonna kill me?" he gasped. "B-B-But –"

He had proven useful, she said as her voice drew away, useful enough that she would have need of him in future. If his information was correct, the Night Lady told him bluntly, then there was more than one reigning criminal She would need to see dispatched in this city.

"But if your information is false," warned the Night Lady in her frozen voice, "then you will be dead before the moons rise this evening."

He saw the door close on its own in a strange show of politeness. He had not noticed a chill in the room, but now, with the door shut, he could feel it fade. Maybe it was just his fear that had sucked all warmth from the his frame and from the room, or maybe it was the cold of the grave that Kaonians insisted always trailed after Her.

* * *

The very instant she was back out in the open air she felt the presence inside pull back. There was a bit of a struggle that she felt, and she heard the monster hiss her displeasure, but true to her word she yielded control back to her. Funny, she thought – demons were not supposed to be trustworthy. They could go back on any agreement at any point they wanted, and yet this one was keeping her word. She had done as she had said she would and had then handed control back without so much as a faint hiss. There was nothing to be gained by adhering and yet she was doing just that: sticking to the agreement they'd made.

Clampdown, at least, was easier to understand. Easily scared and susceptible to intimidation. Somehow she wasn't surprised.

' _He is p_ _athetic._ _That weakling_ _is more deserving of a rat's frame._ '

She rolled her optics, "Maybe so, but when a retro-rat squeals you listen so it can lead you to the nest."

' _He works for Thunderhoof and Contrail. How can we trust his information?_ '

"Do I need to remind you that confession under fright isn't the same as confession under torture?"

' _...But if his information is false_ –'

"You do realize you sound like a complete paranoiac, right?"

' _Is caution the same as paranoia?_ '

"You wanna stop these dimwatts, yeah?"

' _Of course._ '

"Then stop arguing semantics," she hissed, "and let me get to work."

She felt smug when the Demon capitulated and fell silent. Control, she decided, was a very sweet thing indeed.

Transforming, she screamed back into the skies. At cruising altitude she slowed. Clampdown's information made one thing abundantly clear: she could not shut the attack down from the top like she had been planning. Not directly anyway. If she stormed into the Council Hall accusing any one of the higher ups of treason and conspiracy, no matter how well respected she was among Kaon's ordinary people, no one in that building would believe her at her mere word. She needed solid, indisputable evidence to corroborate Clampdown's words, and if this corruption ran as deep as he said, that would be difficult to obtain without resorting to _unpleasant_ means. But there were heads of this siege she could bring down, and thanks to Clampdown she knew exactly where to find them. All of them. Some extra optics and audials wouldn't hurt though – not when there was a sell-out in her own ranks among the given names. Engine growling, she opened an encrypted line to warn her network, then howled in pain as a sound not unlike the one that had come from the hacked precinct console screamed in her audials. Swearing, the line was cut. Clampdown had warned her that many modes of communication were compromised, such as the public Trigon facility, but the Cevian too? The Cevian was a private facility. No one there would have given up the access codes or the encryption, not even under extreme duress. Someone else must've gotten the codes and relayed them, and she had a pretty good idea who had done that. But it explained why no word had come in before the attack: if the Cevian relay was busted for her, it was probably busted for everyone else who used it, too.

The moment she found the brazen little scraplet who'd attacked the Cevian, she'd make them regret ever laying optics on the first line of encryption.

She lowered out of cruising altitude. Her short-band relay crackled to life, and soon her voice was calling out to those below in a code only select individuals would understand: "This is the Black Bird. Are there any embers in the dark?"

Ten pings met her within mere kliks, eliciting a surge of relief that made her wing-tips tingle. Strong and bright the embers burned, they called back.

"Fan the flames, embers. Let's get this old foundry lit back up. Nice and hot!"

Confirming hoots and declarations sounded over the open line. She wasn't surprised when one contact mentioned a "sale" at his place purely through transmitted glyphs. Sending a single glyph for gratitude back to him, she put a reminder in her databanks to give Buckshot something in return for endangering his precious collection. Another five pings came as she neared the edge of the North Quadrant, each identifying themselves as members of the fourth precinct. They were holed up in their joint, sheltering civilians and fellow fighters within the building. The pinging stopped when in an unseen flash she crossed from North to East. Ahead, the thin twin spires of the Cevian pierced high into the skies. To the southeast, in the beating hub of Kaon's city center, the mighty Trigon loomed. Her engine growled. The Cevian was the priority she reminded herself. But as she passed the Trigon by, part of her screamed. It was just over there, and nearer by roughly thirty klicks – and what if the precincts and Guard were pinned down and couldn't get to it? Focusing on her personal assets only seemed selfish. They needed coordination just as badly.

Her engine growled louder as frustration bubbled over. How she wished she possessed a warp drive in place of a cloaking field.

The Cevian drew nearer. She could discern the thin walkways spiraled up to the tips of the two spires. Normally, there were sky-dancers on them to keep the sooty smog from clinging to any exposed machinery. No figures graced the spires' peaks now.

An inarticulate cry rang out from below.

She had grown used to shouts, cries, screams, and all their ilk, but this one she could not ignore. It was higher pitched, somewhat squeaky, and when her scanners targeted the ground below, the signal was tiny and fluctuating. Near it was a stronger, stable signal. Fury burned her circuits. She didn't need visual confirmation.

She dove in a mad spiral.

' _The Cevian, Seeker!_ ' the Demon hissed. _'_ _This is no time for distractions!_ '

At the last possible moment she pulled up and barreled forward. Her mind spat a curse and struck back at the same instant her nose collided with the stronger signal's owner, sending the powerfully built, spotted and scarred Fauxline mech flying into the side of a building. He lay there for a moment, but soon he stirred, rising onto his knee pikes. His weak chuckle transformed into a pained cough. She'd hit him hard; maybe damaged internal mechanisms. He wouldn't be much of a challenge.

"Thought that'd get your attention," he rasped. "You always did have a soft spot for the little 'uns, eh?"

The Fauxline rose unsteadily, revealing a missing right optic and a frame riddled with scars and battle damage.

The instant her weapon was out the red haze came crashing down. She tried to fight, but the red haze lashed back in response, scalding the insides of her optics. Her vision became a sea of red static. She heard the scythe blade contact something, hooking around it, and then felt it wrenched to the side violently. Only then did the red static recede. The pole dropped from her grasp. She took a step back. Shock coursed through her spark. Then it exploded outward into outrage. She almost didn't hear herself emit a howling scream, but she heard it bounce off the nearby buildings.

A frightened little noise came from behind, accompanied by the sound of scrambling limbs that echoed unnaturally.

She turned. The weaker signal was still there, but she could not see the source. She followed it, increasing the sensitivity of her audials. Amidst the slow churning of gears further below and the hissing of released steam and hot air, she heard the rapid cycling of a small cooling fan, coming from a nearby heat release pipe. Approaching it, she knelt and peered in. Inside was a tiny Seeker femme, a sparkling – very delicate looking – hunched up in the very back of the pipe, her already large optics wide in terror. When she reached a hand in, crooning reassurances to her, the little flier whined and backed up further, her air cycling speeding up.

"No!" the little one cried, shoving a hand in her direction. "Stay 'way! All red – like his!"

A jolt ran through her. It took her a moment to realize the glow of her optics into the pipe was indeed red. On top of her screaming howl, no wonder the child was frightened of her.

Taking a slow cycle of air, she shuttered her optics and angrily shoved the shadow inside back into its corner. She opened them again after a moment or two, and the glow was a warm yellow. Some of the little one's fear was replaced by confusion at the new glow into the pipe; some intrigue, too. But she still refused to budge. The fear was still too pronounced, and the distrust was still prevalent. Reaching a hand in made the sparkling shy back once more, but the movement wasn't quite so abrupt as it had been the last time. That was somewhat reassuring. She wouldn't go so far as to say it was evidence of trust, but at least it was better than nothing.

' _You are taking too long,_ ' the shadow hissed.

' _You, shut up. I'll deal with you later._ '

She reached her hand in again, "It's alright, _lkun'zih,_ " she murmured. "I'm sorry if I scared you, and I promise I won't hurt you. My name's Sentenza. I'm a friend."

"Sente'za?" the little one repeated in a cute scrunching of her faceplates

She smiled, "Close enough. What's your name?"

"F-Filigree," answered the little one.

"That's a very pretty name," she complimented through another smile. "Now, how about I get you out of there and someplace safer – and cooler? You're gonna get real stuffy in there, you know."

The sparkling considered for a few moments before finally nodding and making quick work of extricating herself, insisting on dropping down out of the pipe without help. She plucked her off the ground in a subtle rush of movement, shielding her helm against her chassis before she could see the leaking body behind her. But the sparkling cried out even though she could not see.

"Quick!" Filigree pleaded as she tugged at her arm. "B'fore the angry spark comes back for me!"

A soft sigh escaped. At least the Demon had kept her hidden from the child's sight. One small blessing she supposed. Filigree wasn't stringing two and two together in consequence.

"The Nightdemon's not coming back here, Filigree," she said softly.

"How d'you know?" the little one demanded. "My Guardian always said that –"

She glanced back at Deadfall's body and then turned her attention away in disgust. Camber had been right all along.

She laid a hand on the child's helm, "Trust me, Filigree. She's gone."

The words felt like a lie.

She opened another short-band line and repeated the coded phrase, activating her cloak and starting off. Twenty pings answered back with the correct phrase. A brief scanning pulse revealed three were within a few klicks of her position, one closer than the other two. Blaster fire came from their direction, but it sounded fairly one-sided. ~ _Delivery_ ~ she signaled to the target. It signaled back ~ _safety_ ~ ~ _ten_ ~ almost instantly. Some scouters from the tenth were out and about, though, naturally, they weren't far from home. That would have to suffice. Holding a single digit up to her mouth, she removed it and pointed in the direction of the signals and the blaster fire. Filigree nodded. Tucking the sparkling close to her, the cloaking field surrounded her and she broke into a run. The closer she drew to the blaster fire, the tighter Filigree clung, but the Filigree made no noise other than the tiniest, faintest of whimpers. She shushed the child gently, placing a hand over her mouth as she reached the edge of a building and peered around its lip. Three officers, all femmes and dangerously well-armed, were finishing off a group of attackers that had holed up in a building across from theirs. The largest femme, big and well armored but not weighty, finished the fight with a screaming bang of her cannon, blowing a smoldering hole into the building, and giving a loud bark of laughter at the panicked yelping and scrambling from the now terrified attackers within. She couldn't help snickering a little.

"That's right!" the big femme hooted. "Run! Run from the Storm Queen!"

Under the cover of the femme's thundering proclamation, she took the opportunity to approach. Filigree, upset from the noise that the cannon had made and Breakline's loud, thundering voice, uttered a soft whimper.

Startled, the big femme swung around, cannon up. Filigree panicked further, the whimper louder. The cannon powered up.

"Easy, Breakline," she warned while he cloak deactivated. "You're scaring the delivery."

Breakline's cannon lowered in an instant, "Primes! Sorry! Here, here. We'll take her."

She tried to hand Filigree over to Breakline, but the little one protested, clinging to her and refusing to let go. Some moments of gentle reassurances eventually got her to let go and permit herself to be handed over. Filigree reached a hand out towards her. She took it, held it for a moment, and then drew back and released it. Filigree gave an upset whine, but Breakline, shushing her, headed inside the precinct still standing tall behind her.

"I'll call in reinforcements once the Cevian is up and running again," she offered to her.

"We're sorted here," the smallest of the three femmes, Hellion, retorted in a hot snap. "Trust me, if any more o' those boys try a rush, the Storm Queen'll make 'em regret it _real_ fast."

Her lip-plates curled into a weak smirk, "Just make sure the buildings are all still here when I swing back this way."

Hellion gave her a jaunty salute.

The Demon hissed and spat in impatience. Once more she took to the skies. This time, she made a direct line for the Cevian.

* * *

This solar cycle, she decided, could not get any worse.

It had all gone so horribly wrong so horribly fast. First, the alarms hadn't gone off. Her poor employees had had no time to react to the invaders that had stormed her precious facility. The attackers had stampeded through the place, removing any employee foolish enough to try to stop them, and those who had tried to run had fared no better. They had taken her, roughly, out of her office and dragged her towards one particular server, demanding she accessed it for them. She had refused. And now she was uncomfortably tied by a thick chain of energy to one of the pillars, wrists cuffed behind her, and under guard from all angles by horrible, crude mechs with no grasp on the basics of language. Only one understood communications technology, but he too, like the rest were too oafish to appreciate the irony of her situation – the wretched, wretched, droll irony. Again she wiggled against the energy chains.

"Hey! Keep still!" the nearest guard snapped.

"I'd stop moving if I were more comfortable, you know," she retorted. "If you'd loosen the bonds just a little–"

The guard nearest her grunted and ignored her.

"Honestly, you half-wits, is it necessary to treat me in such a brusque manner?"

The guard lifted his weapon and pointed it at her. She stared down the barrel and spat washer fluid at the guard. Growling, the weapon was pressed against the side of her helm.

Glyphs suddenly came over her private frequency: ~ _high_ ~ ~ _reaction_ ~ ~ _absent_ ~

She resisted the urge to grin and laugh. Instead, she rolled her optics in an exasperated manner and briefly caught sight of a black and red form high up on the wiry walkways before it vanished.

"I'll give you one last chance," she warned. "Get out of my facility."

The guards broke into roaring laughter.

"Or you'll what, Daisy Chain? Talk at us summore?"

She smiled back innocently at them, "Believe me, that's preferable to me initiating the fail-safe."

The guards reacted just like she'd wanted. They swarmed her, demanding to know about this "fail-safe." The hunched mech hardwired into the server detached himself and strode over to her in that slow, intentional manner of his. The guards made way for him. One cable snaked up to hover before her. What she'd give to get her hands around Undercurrent's throat, the traitorous little mongrel.

"What fail-safe?" he demanded in his surprisingly soft voice.

~ _attention~_ ~ _maintain_ ~

"Oh, you know, the one I can set off through a simple broad-frequency burst over a special relay inside me that'll connect every server in here onto the same frequency. Why else do you think I got the name Daisy Chain?"

The guards exchanged glances.

"And that's not the best part, see. I can also alter every single bit of info going through the Cevian's airwaves into pure sound," she clarified, "then fed back into the servers and emitted."

"You wouldn't dare do that," he accused. "You would be just as much victim to it as us. You're bluffing. You don't have a fail-safe."

She smiled at him and said nothing.

He tensed, turned, and ran for the server – and something konked into him at neck level, making him trip and fall. The same something rammed into the side of his helm, leaving a roughly circular dent in his cheek. It didn't down him though. The cables snaked up and around, searching, as he rose back to his trods. The guards became wonderfully nervous, their lasers on their weapons darting in every possible direction too fast for them to be practical. Two guards descended on Undercurrent, shielding him as he made his way back to Sentenza's server. Two guards were removed right in front of her: one bashed over the helm at a horizontal angle, the other kicked into a wall with a little help from the thrusters on Sentenza's heel struts. Undercurrent's guards drew closer together, almost backstrut to backstrut, and a third quickly joined to cover Undercurrent from all angles, the laser guides on their weapons all pointed out in front of them and swaying. She almost let slip a faint hiss of frustration. She had misjudged some of the guards it seemed. These were a bit wiser to some of Sentenza's shady tricks. They'd left her no good opening to get close other than directly above, and she'd be heard if she tried to fly.

Her lip-plates curled into a devilish grin. Wirelessly she hijacked the server, not even attempting to conceal her presence in the system. A few tweaks to the server's programming and she disconnected.

Undercurrent noticed the tweaks and laughed softly, "Altering the protection software of the access ports to lock my cables in place? You just did me a favor, Daisy Chain."

"Did I?"

The mech turned to eye her suspiciously. She beamed back at him innocently. He hadn't noticed the other alterations. Rookie mistake.

"Now," she said calmly, "Get out of my facility, traitor."

A single line of code was sent to the hacked server.

Undercurrent noticed it, "Wait, what are you –"

And then he howled as the screeching noise he was feeding into the server fed back on him. In vain he tried to yank his cables free. When that didn't work, he tried to connect to one of the other servers, but he found out quickly no server in the building was safe for him. He sank to his knee pikes, still howling. His guards, frightened, backed away from him. Within the astrosecond, he was down on the ground, unconscious, his cables still connected to the server's ports. The guards backed away further in shock.

Sentenza appeared before the guards. She grabbed one by the neck and lifted him up.

"Get out," she snarled, and then flung the guard to the floor. "Anyone who's left in the next breem I'm giving to Hun-Gurr as a snack."

They left in a hurry.

The detective turned her attention towards her. She watched in astonishment as the black pole grew a sizzling red fang that cut through her bindings. Then she set to work on the stasis cuffs.

"Thanks for the help, Daisy," Sentenza muttered. "That was really nicely played."

The cuffs came off.

"Fragging scraplet deserved it," she huffed. "He came in here a couple deca-cycles back all meek and soft-spoken and intelligent. Told me he was fresh outta the Academy and lookin' for a job. Had the gall to claim himself _Kjeziv'qa,_ too! Load o' refuse, that was. He played my big soft spark for all it was worth. Slaggin' hack is what he is. Caught him snooping into the servers late at night when he was supposed to be elsewhere. Told him off about it and he apparently stopped – until I caught him at your server last night."

The Seeker became agitated, "Why didn't you alert me?"

"Tried to," she protested, "but the little traitor blocked all out going communications in the building that weren't his. Then he called his friends in this morning," her spark clenched then. "My employees, are they –?"

"The ones I passed were all online," Sentenza assured. "Injuries weren't life threatening. They'll be fine after some recuperation."

She gusted air out in relief. Undercurrent must not've gauged her employees to be much of a threat to the operation here.

"Can you get my server back up and running? I need to get a warning out. Fast."

"Shouldn't be difficult. Scraplet never made it past the encryption so he resorted a far more childish means of keeping your network from talking, not to mention obnoxious and crude."

The Seeker's optics lit up, "That screeching sound that happened when I tried to use the server's frequency earlier. That was him?"

She nodded, detached Undercurrent's cables and shoved him out of her way, and set to work on the machine. It didn't take long for the detective to begin pacing. That Sentenza wasn't upset with her over her error in judgement was surprising yet relieving. Personal attacks like this usually got her up in arms. Out of curiosity, she stole a glance at the pacing Seeker. Indignation broiled in her yellow gaze, but her optics were darting every which way – sometimes on her, sometimes on Undercurrent, sometimes on the two unconscious guards. Sometimes it didn't fall on anyone at all. She had never seen her behave in such a way before. But before she could ask about her well-being, Sentenza took note of her scrutiny and suddenly became quite normal again.

"Is it up?" Sentenza demanded.

"Up and ready for you," she told her as she stepped back in satisfaction. "Go on ahead and get that warning out."

Sentenza stepped up to the server and hit a key.

"This is the Black Bird. Can everyone hear me?"

A cacophonous roar of voices hooted and hollered on hearing her voice again, earning a smile and a short laugh. Her precious network appeared to be online and kicking judging by the dizzying amount of personal comm. links now hooked back up to the Cevian server. Rather than have a digital meet-and-greet, the Seeker got right down to business, asking if there was any trouble beyond Kaon. From the sounds of the voices that echoed back, the chaos was confined to this city only. But, strangely, that didn't seem to cause a sense of relief in Sentenza. The Seeker began pinging a number of precinct chiefs in a rush, tossing her a sideways glance in the process. There was something in her hardened expression that made her plating tense up.

"Chiefs," she began. "I have a series of targets and their locations, all on good authority. Take them out, and this problem should clear itself up."

" _Was starting to wonder where you'd gotten off to,_ _lass_ ," came Corpselight's raspy, thundering voice, " _Who do you want us to pummel for ya?_ "

"Sending a list now."

Confirming pings sounded as each chief received the data.

"Pick a target closest to your jurisdiction," advised the Seeker. Her voice then morphed into a low growl, "But whatever you do, leave Decoy to me. He's mine."

"Decoy?" she gasped. "But he's one of ours! Has been for groons!"

She spun away from the server and swept past her, her wings quivering in barely suppressed rage, "Exactly why the rotten little _hgtzyelu_ needs a lesson."

Her tone was murderous. She reached out and snatched her by the pauldron before she past her entirely. Sentenza eyed her. Unless she was seeing things, orange was beginning to swirl in her optics, like viscous dye had been dropped in a vat of watery oil.

"You're not gonna hurt him, are you?" she demanded.

The Seeker jerked her pauldron free, "No promises."

"At least find out what made him turn before you try anything," she insisted. "Decoy isn't the sort to sell himself out like this."

"Fine."

She left in a huff.

Normally, she was willing to trust Sentenza at her word. No matter how indignant she happened to be at someone, she never let it bubble over into physical violence – at least not the type to put you in a clinic for the next half-groon. But this time that trust faltered. Her attitude was different. Apologizing silently to her retreating form, she connected to her server and sent out a request for someone to lend her some assistance. One individual responded in an instant, the signal new and unrecognizable. The glyphs ~ _ally_ ~ and ~ _law_ ~ accompanied it.

" _Where's she headed, miss?_ " asked a young male voice, very polite and agreeable.

The voice didn't sound remotely Kaonian to her, but there was a pleasantness in it she liked. Not Vizanthan or Shjozian, though – the pronunciation of the "ren" glyph in "where" lacked the distinctive purring roll common in those dialects.

"City-center, I think. She's after a Council clerk. Please, check on her. I can't trust she won't hurt him."

" _Understood, miss._ "

* * *

 **Author's Note: Final Chapter for this little tri-chapter bit is next.**

 **Note 1: Daisy Chain is a computing term, describing the connection of multiple devices in a linear series. Hence, Daisy Chain's "special ability" is to connect multiple electronic devices together in a big chain. It makes her job as head of the Cevian facility easier.**


	21. Chapter 17

**Nature of the Beast**

 **One-Shot Series: Tcsovan Niv A'anoth**

Part 17: This Means War Part 3

* * *

 ** _BANG_**

 ** _BANG_**

 ** _BANG_**

 ** _BANG_**

" _Decoy! Open up or so help me I'll take your glossa as a slagging trophy!_ "

Hunched down at his heel struts and halfway beneath his desk, the Council clerk trembled and let slip a terrified whimpering whine. Counterforce admitted to some apprehension himself. Almost without thinking his hand shifted down to hover over the hilt of the scimitar on his hip. Sentenza's balled fist hammering the door had been frightening enough on its own, but the following graphic threat of violence in that fuming howl of hers rammed the Seeker femme's emotional state home. The sarcastic, annoyed, emotionally hungover femme from that same morning had fled for prettier venues. In her place was a screaming, vengeful horror hellbent of letting the whole of creation know precisely how livid she was. The suspicion and concern from the voice over the encrypted Cevian line had not warned him out of conceptual concern but real, tangible fear. Thank the Primes she had been able to provide a fast route to reach Kaon's Council complex. He shuddered at the idea of Decoy being in here alone when she had arrived, and shuddered more when he realized she might very well have enacted her threat were he not here to deter her. He had never seen her so violently incensed before.

 ** _BANG_**

 ** _BANG_**

 ** _BANG_**

 ** _BANG_**

" _DECOY! YOU CAN'T HIDE IN THERE FOREVER! I'LL BREAK THIS DOOR DOWN EVENTUALLY! JUST YOU WATCH!_ "

His hopes faltered. He was honestly unsure if he could deter her. This was not the femme he had come to know, nor was this the Nightdemon. The pounding at the door was an echo of the artillery Kaon had once endured during the War. Was it even possible to reason with battle-fury itself?

 _ **BANG**_

 _ **BANG**_

 _ **BANG**_

 _ **BANG**_

The door began to yield under the artillery. Parts of the metal buckled inward, groaning into small hillocks on their side of the door. The clerk, his hands over his helm and his whole frame trembling and rattling, looked like he was stuck out in the polar regions during a storm rather than his office. He demanded over short-band if he could talk to her, convince her to stand down long enough for him to explain his actions – like he had with him. The detective was usually a sensible femme, he argued through a stammer. Even just a few moments might suffice. He was among her older contacts. If he just had the chance he would explain to her! Everything!

 _ **BANG**_

Sentenza had clearly forgone her fists judging by the broader hillock that burgeoned in the door and the grunt that went with it. Shoulder-slamming now. She was determined to get in. For once, her persistence was disturbing. Luckily for the door, a fine example of sturdy Kaonian architecture meant to withstand nothing short of a close range missile, Sentenza wasn't the most powerfully built Seeker ever to emerge from the Well. Someone like Aegis would have probably had the door in surrender by now.

 _ **BANG**_

Another hillock, a little to the left.

And then came a pause.

* _Listen to me carefully, Decoy. When I tell you to, open the door for her. Emergency release so it opens as fast as it can. Okay?_ *

* _A-alright. I hope you know what you're doing..._ *

* _Trust me. It's basic physics._ *

 ** _BANG_**

The door groaned. A third hillock appeared. He heard her trods meet the floor after a bit of fine-tuning and subsequent straining of his audials, each step a little fainter than the one before. She was backing away, winding up for maximum impact force. He heard her run forward. He waited. Waited. Too soon and she would be able to compensate. Too late and she would hit the door. So, a mere astrosecond before the calculated impact, he barked to Decoy, * _NOW!_ * The clerk forced the doors into an emergency release, each panel swinging inward on their guide runners. Sentenza, already committed to her attack and too fast to stop on a moment's notice, stumbled in and, thanks to her hunched posture, rammed into the desk and stumbled back, wincing and cursing. Counterforce wasted no time in seizing the opening, vaulting over the desk and grabbing her before forcing her hands behind her backstrut in such a way that moving would hurt enough to deter her.

"Let go of me!" she spat, struggling. She kicked him and stamped her right trod onto his right. He grunted back the whine of pain.

"No," he said in an iron-clad voice, holding her tighter. "Not until you hear Decoy out."

"Why in the name of the Fallen would I listen to a dirty little traitor?!"

Decoy dared rise from beneath his desk, "Because I didn't betray you, detective."

"And why should I believe you?!"

"Because I made a promise to you. To protect the good folk of Kaon."

She tried to lunge, "Then you've slagging well broken it!" she hissed. "You're dead to me, you hear?!"

He held her tighter still, suddenly feeling like a harness instead of a cop, "Sen! For Primus' sake, let him talk! He's not a traitor!"

"Please," the clerk pleaded. "Please, just let me explain. If you don't believe me after, fine. I'll walk into a smelter or put a hole in my helm if that's what you think I deserve. Because, yes, some of this is technically on me."

As depressing as that declaration was, it did something to appease the writhing mass of hurt and hate he held in a vice grip. Her struggling became less fevered. When he asked politely in that same firm but controlled and gentle voice if he could trust her enough to release her, Sentenza let out a loud hiss from her neck vents. He thought for a brief moment that burst of air was a warning not to, that she was threatening him, but then her frame loosened up. He dared release her – but not before grabbing the pole on her hip, earning an upset flash of her _tv're_ and a low rumble of her engine but no violent response followed. There was a certain apathetic understanding he caught in the brief twitch of her wings. She knew well enough his reasons for disarming her were two-fold.

"Alright," she grunted. "Talk. I'm listening. But if I deem at _any_ point you're feeding me a lie –" she warned, jabbing her index digit at him.

Decoy's interruption was as blunt as his stubby digits: "Name one time I've ever lied to you," Sentenza's mouth opened to retort, but Decoy beat her to it, "in ways that weren't trivial."

The only other time he'd ever seen a 'bot surrender in such bad grace was when Flintlock had been assigned to his first stakeout. She let out another unhappy hiss, folded her arms over her chassis, and leaned onto one trod. "Talk," she repeated in a muffled bang that echoed her assault on the door.

And so Decoy did exactly as asked. He talked.

* * *

Decoy was an insider. That was the only reason she listened.

He wasn't just an insider, he reminded her. He was _her_ insider. She'd put him there because of his hate of politicians. It was his task as a Council clerk to ensure transparency from the highest rungs of local government, he insisted, and that was what he had done and continued to do. But because he was so deeply embedded, getting word out was hard, nigh impossible even on the best cycle. He couldn't trust anyone else in the complex, and if he was caught personally contacting her – well, there went his cozy insider position. The Cevian was private, but Contrail and Ratbat had his frequency monitored because he dealt with sensitive information. If he used the Cevian, he'd compromise her entire network to a bunch of crooks, and if he used her personally frequency he'd compromise his association with her.

"I have to be silent or excessively indirect," he concluded. " _I_ don't like it, _you_ don't like it, but what could I conceivably _do_?"

She heaved a sigh. That was the problem with insiders. They all had some sort of choker around their necks. Decoy had the tightest fitting one. There was no one he could easily turn to to get word out in an emergency, not without his employers getting wind of it.

"You said this was partly your fault," she reminded him. "How?"

"See," he answered, "I knew somethin' was funny a while ago when I was going over Contrail's funding for the Guard. Contrail always gets in a steady supply for them, that's part of his responsibility, but about, eh," he hesitated and did a quick calculation, "almost three groons ago, stuff started getting...odd. Not illegal, just odd. He was ordering more than was possible from the weaponsmiths here in Kaon, but when I checked with the depots distributing them they professed ignorance."

She nodded, "You took that with a pinch of bronze shavings, didn't you?"

For the first time since she'd come into the office he managed a weak smile, "Indeed I did, not because I didn't trust them at their word but because they were getting their usual imports. I even checked the itineraries for each depot. No funny business on their end; I checked. So paid a visit to the foundries. I help oversee the economics of governing so neither Councilor would see that as unusual. Those crafters aren't the type to distribute weapons without a good reason either – or without a good salary for that matter. Orders that size would mean a hefty income. But that wasn't the case. All the forge femmes I talked to didn't know a thing about this. Strikedown, Fuller, and Simmerdown were all confused; they'd never gotten any weapon orders despite the fact they're the usual suppliers here in Kaon. So I had them promise to look at the others smiths to see if someone was getting special orders. Turns out, no one was. These weapon shipments were coming from someplace else and labeled as if they had come from here."

Not only was his story beginning to make a certain amount of depressing, infuriating sense, she had yet to catch his nervous tick of grabbing his left index digit in his thumb and right index to twist the solitary digit in a strange massage. So far, at least, he was telling the truth.

"They were coming form Theta Xozkars, weren't they?" she guessed. "That's where Hustle got his batch, and I know Thunderhoof gets his stuff from them 'cause Silverhound was at that underground deal and half a dozen others."

"Precisely," Decoy agreed. "And that's when I knew this was bigger than Contrail, Ratbat, or both together trying to make a profit under the table."

She reeled back, angry and confused, "Why didn't you alert me to all this?"

"I tried," he said in the tired, frantic voice of one who knew that was she was upset but did not expect her to trust his word. "Believe me, Sentenza, I tried. I got word to you through Hoodwink and other civilian helpers as often as I could about the deals I knew of, but those communications had to be encrypted, at randomized intervals, and go through multiple different 'bot relays before reaching you so no suspicion would come back to me. And I knew Wiretap would prove invaluable to you when it came to the distribution deals. That young femme sees and hears so much that she shouldn't. If I couldn't get word about deals to you, I knew she could. Besides, I couldn't just call out either mech. No one would believe me, and if I came forward with the evidence they'd figure out I was one of yours."

"Wait," her Praxian muttered. "Sen, that weapon deal at Hustle's you told me about? The basement. The building codes. Don't buildings here need to be need to be inspected because of the presence of those old mine shafts and war tunnels? And doesn't that need to be signed off by a Councilor?"

"I knew the corruption in this city was bad," she hissed back at him, not appreciating what she interpreted as an insult to her intelligence, "but I never thought it went all the way to the top. I honestly just thought Hustle had bribed an inspector to say it was safe to build there. Scrap like that happens more often than you think here and the Councilors tend to avert their gaze. Doesn't really make it better that I never trust politicians."

"Not even the decent ones?" he asked startled.

"Not even them."

"Wha-Why?"

"Bureaucracy," she grunted. "That, and politicians always have their faceplates halved. It's just in the decent ones that halving is harder to spot."

Counterforce stared at her. Insult blinked in his field. "Prowl isn't the most likeable personality, I admit, but I wouldn't go so far as to call him two-faced."

"That just means your Councilor hides it better."

He rolled his optics at her then, sighing, " _Jivkn aln rtu_. I guess this is the result of having law-makers you can't trust."

Her focus shifted back to Decoy. She could understand Contrail and Ratbat getting into the same berth as Thunderhoof. At the end of the cycle it was a business arrangement, same as Boarfrost and Polarclaw up in Ticosus. The only real question was why. There was no way it was just about the credits the arrangement brought in. They'd like the extra income, of course, but none of those mechs thought _that_ small, and the money definitely wasn't being used to hush up Kaon's Councilors; they were in on it. All these deals, all this effort, this attack on Kaon itself – but what was the end goal? Scaring the clean precincts, her, and the Network into ceasing their efforts? An authoritarian regime change?

Decoy revved his vocalizer. "To continue," he said. "I say this is partly on me because of my inability to do much to prevent it without jeopardizing myself or anyone else."

"Didn't you try _something_?" Counterforce wondered. "I find it hard to believe there was nothing you could do."

"No. You're right. But even what I did do, it seems, hardly mattered judging by the chaos outside. The best I could do at the start was interfere with the manufacturing process. In my intermittent dealings with them, I managed to convince a few Thetans to sabotage a small fraction of their products; their workers do _not_ appreciate it when their honest labor is given to dishonest use, you know. I made sure the amount for each shipment was randomized but also convincingly small enough to make it look like accidental shoddy workmanship. The number was hardly enough to make a significant difference but I hoped it would help. When the shipments suddenly stopped coming in three deca-cycles ago, I knew they were getting ready for something big. I admit I miscalculated what they planned to do with those weapons. I thought they would just attack the decent precincts or you and the Network, detective, not the city as a whole."

"An understandable conclusion to reach though," said her Praxian. "You wouldn't have known if they didn't want you to. That sort of thing they'd be sure to keep under wraps."

"You could've warned someone," she hissed at the clerk. "Like, I don't know, Wiretap maybe?"

"I did. I warned one 'bot, Fuller, and she promised to warn as many civilians in as surreptitious a manner as she could. She couldn't tip the precincts or you. That would give away that their security was jeopardized."

She didn't like the fact he hadn't but she understood his reasoning. An alert to the precincts would have alerted the presence of a mole. While she had not received reports of faulty weaponry among the enemy – not surprising; Thunderhoof wasn't stupid enough to use weapons without first testing them – she did admit that civilians seemed to have gotten into cover faster than she would've thought possible on such short notice, and so far, there were no reports of civilian casualties, only casualties among those doing the front lines fighting.

"Really?!" Decoy demanded. He practically flung himself back in his seat at that, hands flat against the twin _uytk_ regions on his helm. "Oh, thank Nexus! At least I made _some_ difference!"

Decoy could lie and bluff easily, that came with his job, but he couldn't put on a performance to save his life. The sudden pull back, the release of so many tense plates, and the mind-shattering relief in his voice were all one hundred percent genuine. She couldn't decide for the spark in her whether to be mad at Decoy or mad at Kaon's Councilors shaking hands with a crime boss. This cycle's events weren't really Decoy's fault but at the same time they were.

There was a long pause. Decoy, eyeing her for brief span, then hung his helm and sighed like an old mech weary of the world. He didn't expect her to believe him, he said quietly, nor did he expect her to believe how guilty he felt. This, at least some of it, was on him. He knew that.

"This _is_ on you," she agreed in a flat growl. "You should've gotten word to me the moment you figured out they were all in cahoots, damn your position."

The clerk flinched. "I know, I –"

"But," she continued, "you at least made efforts to minimize the damage. Minuscule, covert efforts still count as efforts no matter what I think of them personally. I do believe your story, Decoy, even though I don't agree with everything you did. I won't punish you but I won't praise you either. You could've handled this better than you did."

"I know. I understand," he said in a bow of his helm. "In my quest to remain a useful insider to you, I was _too_ cautious. I hesitated when I should have acted. That cost Kaon dearly," he looked up suddenly, "I will make it up to you. I swear on the Allspark I will. I-I'll get as much hard evidence as I can about this alliance and get it to you. Do with it what you will."

"I'll hold you to that."

Wings down, she turned and left the office, uncertain whether to remain mad at Decoy or even if he deserved all the anger she had directed at him. Out in the hall she paused after taking a few steps. Voices, hushed, came from the clerk's office.

" _Thank you for getting her to listen, svke,_ " Decoy said. " _I don't think I've ever seen her that mad before. That was...frightening, honestly._ "

" _It's not really her fault. She...had a rough previous deca-cycle. Short fuse in consequence_ ," seeing his sympathetic smile through his words was easy. " _And I'm_ _sorry about the door._ "

" _I'd be impressed if a Kaonian Seeker didn't have a short fuse after a rough deca-cycle,_ " the clerk joked dryly. " _And don't worry about the door. I'll handle it. I'll put it on the Councilors' expenses. Only fair, don't you think?_ "

The snorting one-beat chuckle came out more sinister and derisive than she had wanted, discordant against Counterforce's lighter-sparked one. She forced the humor down before Counterforce emerged from the office. He gave her a curious, expectant look, two of the silver blades on the sides of his helm wiggling. When she returned the look with a roll of her optics, a soft sigh escaped him. He took up a position beside her and together they made their way out of the building into the surreal, hauntingly empty courtyard of the Council complex. In the silence, the anger came back. Growling, fists clenched, she turned towards the great debate hall topped with its reinforced borosillicate glass dome over which the foundry district's black plume rose. She had never been a fan of the building or the politicians who worked there but now hate came easily. Burning, violent hate. It was too easy to imagine those two scraplets lounging in there, safe and secure, while the city panicked under the attack.

She took one step forward. Counterforce gently grabbed her arm. "They can't hide from punishment forever, you know. They'll get what's coming to them. _Oqtoliae vu lum hvr jn'bvek_."

Her hate turned to rage. She turned on him, jabbing a digit in his face and snapping, " _Don't_ you _dare_ quote Xanxoran scripture at me in this city! They know nothing about justice and punishment hiding up in their sanctuary like cowards, expecting Primus to handle everything wrong with the world! And yet the world is still neck deep in mire!"

Hands rising, doors lowering alongside his helm, Counterforce went silent. The apology that formed in her vocalizer only made it out through a silent wince. It wasn't his fault he was so frustratingly idealistic. Praxus itself was to blame for that. Being pessimistic was difficult when a 'bot didn't have to worry about crime infiltrating the highest struts of the law. But that thought did not kill the frustration or the fury she felt at him. He didn't understand what real corruption was. He never would. In a voice as flat as her expression she ordered him to go check with Daisy Chain at the Cevian. Counterforce took the dismissal in the typical Praxian way: politely and without a hint of protest. Nodding, he handed her the pole back, transformed and raced out of the courtyard into the streets beyond. Streets, she noted, that sounded like they were finally starting to quiet down. She did not follow him. Not yet. She had to get something done first, and that slagging goody-two-trods Praxian certainly wouldn't approve.

Once more she turned back to the debate hall, striding right up to its main entrance covered in a sturdy metal awning. Her sharp yellow gaze bored into the lens of one of the two security cameras sitting beside the main entrance. They both focused on her, giving almost imperceptible whirring noises as they did. She no longer cared about not getting caught. She no longer cared about subtlety. The only thought in her processor was punishment.

"Start counting your cycles, you pricks," she growled loud enough to be heard clearly. "When I'm done dragging your afts through the rust you'll _beg_ for the safety of a prison cell, because every good Kaonian in this city will want your bodies tossed into a smelter and turned into the twisted tools you are. You want war with me, do you? I'll give you war!"

Taking the pole, extending it out to its maximum length, the butt end of it was rammed into the lens of the camera, shattering it and shoving the broken, sparking remains deeper into the wall.

"Make war with me," she hissed into the other camera, "and you make war with Kaon herself!"

Threat issued, and the Nightdemon thus pleased, she abandoned the complex.

* * *

Though Sen had ordered it as a dismissal, he was pleased to meet the femme who had warned him about Sen's fury. Daisy Chain was a likeable femme with a big, full voice to match her strong frame and more than enough attitude to intimidate him, but she was as warm and kind to him as she was to her recovering employees and anyone she had invited in to seek shelter, giving him a friendly shove and sharing a cube of _jixn_ with him after he confirmed success in her mission. It wasn't the best Kaonian concoction he'd ever imbibed but it wasn't intolerable, having a strange smokey aftertaste that was strangely enjoyable. He wouldn't dare refuse something as her guest. Daisy's had a liquid nitrogen additive and before long she was blowing freezing smoke from her mouth like a dragon, earning giggles and guffaws from the employees around her. Some were lying on the ground. Some sloped against the walls, leaning on one trod. An assorted bunch too. Daisy wasn't biased in her employment practices.

A good femme with a positive attitude and social skills to spare. No surprise at all Sen had her as her communications chief.

"Where is she anyway?" wondered Daisy. "She hasn't checked in over the line. It's been a while."

He refused the urge to say "Hopefully not putting a scythe blade in someone's neck." Instead, he told he assumed she was doing a quick check of various allies, or maybe helping a precinct with their allotted target. Why those 'bots hadn't reported her presence over the Cevian channel he didn't know. He knew why she might not contact him. They'd had a little...spat outside the Council complex. She was upset with him, he said, hanging his helm.

"Aww. Don't look all gloomy like a smog cloud, golden boy," Daisy guffawed. "You're one of the few Praxian coppers she'll talk to, and you're the only one she's bothered to befriend – and I mean befriend-befriend, not just set you up as a contact. Count yourself lucky. She must really like you. If she likes you I can guarantee she won't stay mad at you for long."

He stared at her, "Wait, how do you know about that? Did she tell you?"

Daisy let out another ringing laugh, "Sweetpark, my job in life is to operate a planet-wide intelligence chain so Sen'za's job is a little easier. Of course I know!"

He felt a little dumb about his question now. He smiled meekly.

"Daisy," came a humorously annoyed voice, "what have I told you about gossiping about my personal life in front of your employees?"

They turned. Sentenza was standing there, arms crossed and glowering at the giggling gathering like a disappointed old drill sergeant. He jumped slightly on seeing her there so suddenly, but Daisy merely laughed again, brushing it off. It couldn't be gossip if it was true!

He was concerned for a moment she'd snap at her, that her previous anger still lingered, but the glower soon yielded to a humorous smirk, and that then gave way to a short one-beat chuckle that, to his audials, sounded forced. But her arms came down so some of the humor had to be genuine. She joined them, seating herself by one of the employees on the ground, legs hunched up and leaning forward onto them, arms wrapped around them to keep them in place.

"What took you so long?"

"Check ins. Recon," she answered in a quick flick of her wings. She was still irked with him, it seemed.

"So how's it lookin' outside, then?" the employee near to her asked.

"Slow going due to push back from dirty precincts and lingering thugs," she said, "but it's getting there. Breakline thinks we should have control of the city-center sector by dusk."

That got the employee to laugh. "Storm Queen's raising a riot out there, eh? Best hope the city's still in one piece by daybreak then."

He was pleased to see a genuine albeit weak smile form on her lip-plates, but then it disappeared, replaced by a flat line.

"Come on, sweetspark! No need to be frowny!" insisted Daisy Chain. "That's good news!"

"I won't be happy till Kaon's people are secure again. Laughing and smiling now isn't appropriate."

Although Daisy's smile faltered the kindness was still there. "Suit yourself, sweetspark. Are you just here for a respite or are you planning to stay here?"

"Pit-stop," the Seeker grunted.

Daisy puffed more freezing smoke, "Then take some medical grade before you go. You've been flying and running around since this morning with no breaks. You know where to look."

The Seeker rose and wandered off deeper into the facility. He never saw her leave.


End file.
